Leather & Cigarettes
by Zelz Saihitei
Summary: They said no attachments. But what happens when their addiction to each other becomes dangerous? [femmeslash]
1. coffee and tea

Inspiration comes from the oddest places. In this case, it was just the fact that I stayed out until 7 in the morning and came home in my girlfriend's leather jacket. Hm. I think this one is gonna be good, but you be the judge. Remember to tell me what you think; it makes me feel special.

Disclaimer: Obviously, sex & cigarettes are NOT prevalent in J. K. Rowling's books (such a shame, too). The characters mentioned, with the exception of the magenta-haired barista Skye, belong to her and various companies. Suing will be met with many shed emo tears. And you really don't want to see me cry.

Leather & Cigarettes  
Chapter One: coffee and tea

It was midnight, and Ginny Weasley was craving coffee.

_Well, 11:47_, she amended in her head, pulling on her faded leather jacket. _And I want espresso._

The lights were already out in her apartment. She always spent the late hours in darkness, waiting, wondering, pacing, thinking. She could never sleep. She didn't know of anyone who did anymore, anyway. Not since her sixth year of school. Not since the proverbial held breath of Harry Potter's life was exhaled in such a large sigh that it created a shockwave of chaos, sending Muggles and half-bloods and full-bloods into a fray of melee fighting that would take them to this point, two years later. Ginny had spent her sixth year being trained in all the Defense and Offense magic that the Ministry of Magic had neglected to add to the academic curriculum during her previous years, and had spent her seventh making her first kills, her first captures. Any ethical bone in her body had been broken by now. She didn't even remember why she had vomited and been sick for days after performing her first Unforgivable Curse on a Death Eater - oddly enough, the same Death Eater that had killed her brother Charlie only a month or two beforehand. She'd been wearing his jacket, too, the one he had left for her in the case of his death. It was a perfect fit. She never left the apartment without it.

Her feet fell into a steady rhythm as she walked down the rain-soaked concrete. It had been raining earlier; it had been raining a lot as of late. Ginny couldn't decide if it was weather spells to make it harder for them or for the Death Eaters to attack, or if the earth was simply trying to cleanse itself as fast as possible of all the bloodshed and corpses and dark magic that was soaking into the soil.

_No stars again_, she thought as she glanced up at the sky. She missed the Burrow, with its multitude of stars shining in the sky, so innocently. She missed the bright summers before this consistent darkness settled everywhere. With the hours she kept, with the weather the way it had been, she hadn't seen sunlight in days. It was as if Voldemort himself had reached up and taken the sun away, twisted it to his own dark desires, and left it mutilated behind the rain clouds, left it there to drown.

"Bastard," Ginny muttered, surprising a Muggle man who glared at her as she passed. But she didn't notice his offended expression; she was busy fumbling in her jacket pocket for her pack of cigarettes and lighter. She giggled slightly to herself as she put the black cigarette into her mouth and cupped her hand around the flame of the lighter, inhaling until it flared and crinkled. She breathed in the lethal cinnamon-flavored smoke into her lungs. _While in Rome, do like the Romans._ Otherwise, she just would have used her wand, tucked safely away in the other pocket to avoid a sticky situation.

She reached the coffee shop after taking two turns and nearly being run over by two nighttime drivers too worried about catching the darkness than the people that were still prowling the streets. She flicked them off appropriately, but otherwise didn't draw any other attention to herself. She wasn't the only witch wandering out this late; if she wasn't careful, she could be spotted, and it wouldn't be her half-finished cigarette that killed her.

She pushed open the door and didn't even bother putting out her cigarette. The owner, a middle-aged Muggle woman named Skye whose hair reminded Ginny of a magenta Medusa, knew her well enough by now to not ask her to put out her cigarettes. Besides, Ginny always showed up around this time, when Skye was closing up and no one else was in the shop besides starving artists and writers who smoked anyway. Ginny liked to think that perhaps she was inspiring them, inspiring paintings of redheads in black leather jackets, smoking swirling from a cigarette held between delicate fingers, blue eyes dark and filled with the night and the pain that it brought; inspiring poetry of a dark goddess who always ordered three shots of espresso and nothing else. Immortal because of addiction. Ginny grinned in spite of its twisted implications.

"The usual," Skye stated, never asked. The pink-haired coffee queen was beyond asking. Ginny nodded once and said nothing, only dug into her jeans pocket and pulled out the necessary amount. She was sure to always carry Muggle money with her. She never knew when she would need it, for cigarettes, coffee, or simply escaping from a nasty trap via the subway or bus. She always had to watch her back. She always had to be ready.

Skye sat the paper cup, hot to touch, on the counter and slipped the money from the counter into her hands, not bothering to count it as she put it in the designated spots in her cash register. Ginny mumbled a thank-you and good night and snatched the cup from the counter before making her exit.

It took another half of a block to finish her cigarette; she drowned it in a puddle without missing a step, then stumbled as she tried to take a sip of her espresso. The bitter nectar scorched her tongue pleasantly and dribbled a little on her chin from her misstep. She wiped it from her chin and cursed her clumsiness, just as she came into contact with a black form.

Her coffee spilled all over the front of her jacket. She swore aloud at her misfortune and thanked Merlin it was leather before her instincts kicked in. She threw the cup out of her hand and reached for her wand, taking a few steps back at the same time. But the person in front of her was not who she expected.

"Good evening," said the polite, familiar voice. It belonged to a woman, an inch or so shorter than she, with dark eyes and cinnamon-brown hair, elbow-length and slightly wavy, still damp from the last rainstorm. She wore a long black overcoat and black pinstripe trousers, perhaps a little too loose, the bottoms wet and frayed from wear. Her hands were stuffed in the front pockets, but Ginny knew what they looked like: delicate and ink-stained, the nails bitten down. She hoped that some things never did change.

"Hermione," Ginny replied, her tongue betraying her awkwardness. "It's - been a while." Slowly, she lowered her wand and replaced in her pocket.

Hermione smiled softly and nodded. "Yeah," she agreed softly. "Yes, it has."

"How have you -?" they started together, then laughed weakly. Ginny finished the sentence for them. "How have you been?"

The night seemed to swallow Hermione up momentarily. Her eyes grew darker, and the streetlights cast sunken shadows on her face. Ginny felt her heart sink. The war had not been kind to Hermione, then. Ideals had made her hope that Hermione was somehow being exempt from the pains that it was bringing to everyone else.

"I've been," Hermione started, stopped, and sighed. "I'm sure you can imagine. It hasn't been easy." Her eyes met Ginny's questioningly. "What about you?"

Ginny thought back to the past year. The death of Charlie, still weighing down her; the constant melees she had encountered, the close calls. Losing the leader of her entourage and having Harry name her the new leader. Almost getting herself and her companions killed too many times now. Her first kills, her last ones. Rescuing her parents from Lucius Malfoy, but not being able to catch him.

She summed it up with a shrug. "I'm sure you can imagine," she repeated. Her mouth suddenly felt dry. Hermione was looking at her too closely. Hermione was too close in general. She wished she hadn't thrown away her coffee in a panic. She could really use something to do with her hands.

_This isn't fair,_ she thought to herself, shoving her hand into her pocket for another cigarette. _It's been a year, she's here again, and I can't even muster a decent conversation._ She flicked the lighter with frustration in her fingertips and sucked in the familiar smoke. She noticed Hermione's incredulous look and couldn't help but grin. "I know," she said, voicing what she expected Hermione's thoughts of her to be. "I used to be such a good girl."

To her surprise, Hermione didn't reprimand her. The brunette only shrugged. "Desperate times call for desperate measures," she quoted the old proverb, then chuckled lightly to herself. "Or just a cigarette."

Maybe it was the nicotine making friends with the caffeine, as they always did at this time of night, but Ginny suddenly felt jittery and nervous and rash. She took a drag from her cigarette and then hooked Hermione's eyes with her own, not letting go, even when she noticed the blush on the brunette's cheeks. Especially when she noticed the blush on the brunette's cheeks.

"Do you maybe want to -"

A stranger from the shadows cut her off. His long cloak and hidden face immediately tipped both of them off to what he was: a Death Eater. Ginny swore under her breath and tossed her cigarette, taking out her wand in its stead. Suddenly standing next to her, she noticed Hermione do the same.

"Don't you know it's not safe for two women to wander the streets at night?" asked the cruel, almost inhuman voice.

A strange feeling washed over her body just as the Death Eater raised his wand, like water droplets slipping slowly down her skin. Surprise stilled her own tongue from reacting; he made the first move before she could react.

"_Petrificus Totalus!_" he cried. Ginny was about to mutter the counter spell when, to her surprise, the Death Eater's spell crackled and died when it came into contact with her skin.

She could tell he was surprised as well. A look of rage overtook his features, but they blurred suddenly as she was being pulled away, Hermione shouting at her to hurry.

They ran together down the side streets of the neighborhood, avoiding trashcans and parked cars. Lightning raced across the sky, as if to race them, and thunder shielded their footsteps from echoing. Ginny was happy for Charlie's jacket as heavy rain began to fall.

Hermione had them stop abruptly, in a place Ginny only vaguely knew. Giving Ginny a look she couldn't read, Hermione grabbed Ginny's hand with her own and the familiar feeling of Apparating trickled down her scalp. The dark buildings and the rain became fuzzy and disappeared, melting away to a dark apartment.

"Well," Hermione said, breaking the silence and Ginny's disorientation. "That was an adventure. Would you like some tea?"

Ginny nodded dumbly and collapsed on the closest sitting facility, an old blackberry-colored couch that was surprisingly quite comfortable. Guilty about getting what she assumed was Hermione's apartment wet, she performed a quick evaporating charm on her clothes, the carpet, and the couch where she had been and removed her shoes, setting them neatly on the floor under the coffee table in front of her.

From there, she wasn't exactly sure what to do. She couldn't see Hermione, but she could hear the girl - no, woman - in the kitchen, the hiss of the kettle as it heated. She was humming softly to herself, as if this was just another day. As if it weren't raining outside for the twentieth time that day.

_At least it looks like she's been living comfortably_, Ginny thought to herself, regarding her surroundings. The living room had the couch and the coffee table, hard wood surface covered in pieces of parchment, books, quills, and ink wells, both full and empty; a Muggle television set on top of a wooden stand, a few knickknacks here and there on shelves of books nailed to the walls around the room; a single bookshelf off to the side, over by the wall that also held the doorway to the kitchen, door missing; a hallway leading from behind the couch to what Ginny assumed was a bedroom and a bathroom. The front door was on the opposite wall, to the left of the television.

Ordinary. Safe. Untouched by pain, war, suffering. Seemingly like its resident.

But Ginny knew better. She guessed that the parchment were letters to family members, explanations of deaths - or, at least, the ones that they knew about. She knew vaguely what it was that Hermione did. She was the pitying Angel of Death because she was one of the only ones who had the strength to tackle the job. She was also the researcher, finding new combat spells and figuring out how to create new magical devices for Dumbledore's Army to use.

_Lonely jobs_, Ginny thought. No wonder she hadn't seen the brunette in a year.

"Here's the tea," Hermione announced, immerging again from the kitchen, holding a tray. Two cups, one black and one blue, and a dark blue kettle. Ginny opted for the black cup and stirred the dark liquid with the spoon provided. She watched Hermione sit down on the wicker chair next to the couch out of the corner of her eye.

She swallowed, mouth dry again. Her heart was pounding wildly in her chest, and it wasn't from the two cigarettes she had smoked earlier, and it wasn't from the brief gulps of caffeine she had savored. It was Hermione. It was old feelings coming back.

_This can't happen now_, she hissed mentally. _There's a goddamn war going on, Ginny. You can't afford to love anyone._

Yet there she was, in Hermione's apartment, drinking tea out of a black cup and watching the object of her affection of three years watch her. It seemed like some kind of film, or what she understood of them, but someone had forgotten to give her the script to read beforehand. She had no idea what her lines should be.

So they drank their tea in silence, making eye contact for brief moments before dropping it, out of embarrassment, out of uncertainty. She didn't want to ask what Hermione had been up to because she didn't want to remember that there was a war going on. It seemed so normal to just sit there, drinking tea.

But minutes passed and they had both finished. Ginny was overwhelmed by the tension but didn't know how to break it.

"Er, Hermione," Ginny said, through clearing her throat, "it's rather late, and - do you mind if I -?"

She hadn't even finished when Hermione nodded. "Sure, you can stay here," the brunette replied with a small smile. "You're welcome to sleep on my bed. I'll take the couch."

The last comment stung, and Ginny didn't know why. _Really, why would you expect her to jump into bed with you after not seeing you for a year?_ Sometimes, Ginny Weasley wanted to beat her head against the wall at her own stupidity.

Instead, she nodded. It was almost like giving herself head trauma, without the wall. "That would be fine."

At that, Hermione stood abruptly and took Ginny's empty teacup from her hands, retreating to the kitchen once again. However, her absence was much briefer, and she was gesturing now for Ginny to follow her down the hallway.

Hermione's room was simple, like the rest of the house. The bed, covered in dark sheets, was neatly made, save the plaid pajama pants and loose white tank top in a crumbled pile on the comforter. There was a bedside table with a lamp and a book, a dresser covered with candles, knickknacks, and more books, and another bookshelf, filled to the brim with books of all different sizes and genres. It was the room of a bookworm, of a woman who spent most of her days poring over pages trying to get them to reveal their secrets. It was the room of a woman who was always ready to go.

Hermione snatched the pajamas from the bed and tossed them over by the closet doors, across the room from the bed. The brunette went over to the dresser and from the drawers pulled out a pair of nondescript pajama pants and a faded t-shirt, the words no longer readable, and offered them to Ginny. Though Ginny preferred to sleep in the nude, she took the offered clothing with a soft smile. After all, this wasn't her bed. She had to play by Hermione's rules.

_Don't,_ Ginny thought as thoughts of what she really wanted to do on the bed began to trickle in. _This isn't the time or the place. Settle down._

"Will this suit you?" Hermione asked her gently, obviously feeling just as awkward.

Ginny nodded, mouth too dry again. She didn't have any spit to swallow anymore. "Yeah, it's fine," she replied vaguely. "Thanks."

They both stood there awkwardly for a few moments, the bed in plain sight and just behind them. Ginny realized she was still wearing her brother's jacket, and it was making her too warm. Or maybe that was Hermione. She blinked a little, then slowly pulled it off, then looked around wordlessly for a place to set it.

Hermione answered her mental call and came closer, reaching for the jacket with one hand. Their fingers touched - Ginny gasped from the raw feeling of electricity rushing through her, and if she were to look back on her life from a future time, she would pinpoint this moment as how it all started.

The jacket fell into a heap of leather on the floor. They reached for each other at the same time, lips and bodies coming together, becoming fiery need and passion and desire and so many things at once. It was a year's worth of vague longings and hopeless sighs and wishful thoughts, wondering _what she's doing right now_ and _I hope I see her again soon_ on every single dark lonely night that sprung upon them.

Ginny pushed away Hermione's long overcoat and didn't even bother admiring the pretty black knit top underneath before pulling it off, tossing it across the room. She was barely aware of Hermione breaching her own clothing, pulling off the black fitted tank top and already infiltrating her dark jeans. She wasn't even aware that there wasn't any clothing separating their skin anymore, until the softness of Hermione overwhelmed all of her nerve endings and she shuddered at the mere delight of it.

Hermione pulled them to the bed, lying with her head against the pillow and coaxing Ginny up to her. Ginny crawled up Hermione's body, hands roaming to the soft flesh of her hips and stomach, thumbs brushing against her nipples as their mouths never left each other, as Hermione moaned gently against her lips - and again, when Ginny pushed her thigh into the damp flesh between her legs.

"You're really wet," she half-mumbled, teasing Hermione again with her thigh, evoking another gasp from the smaller woman.

But Hermione had her own tricks. Suddenly, Ginny felt a delicate hand between her thighs, a slender finger slipping inside her. She bit down gently on Hermione's bottom lip, but couldn't quite repress the moan that bubbled in the back of her throat.

Hermione leaned her lips close to Ginny's ear, sending shivers down Ginny's spine as she breathed. "So are you." She nipped gently at Ginny's sensitive earlobe, and thrust two more fingers in.

Ginny felt a delicious prickling in the back of her head as the pleasure from Hermione's fingers registered in her brain. She moved her hips rhythmically and whimpered into Hermione's neck, her fingernails running over her stomach. Not in control, she bit down gently on Hermione's collarbone, making the brunette gasp - and then gasp again, when she moved her thigh to allow her fingers access to the sleek skin of Hermione's clit.

Hermione clutched at her as she moved her finger circularly around the fleshy nub of nerve endings, gasped out an "oh, god," and dug the nails of her free hand into Ginny's back. The other stopped its thrusting, only to change strategies as it began mimicking Ginny's own movements on her clit.

Their bodies were becoming sweaty, pressed up against each other's building heat and heavy breathing. Almost like magnets, their mouths came together again, tongues darting together over lips and tongue and teeth biting down on bottom lips gently when for a brief moment it was a little too much, or just wonderful enough, or just because. Ginny had no thoughts in her head; her body felt like it was swimming through clear blue water, sweet and intoxicating. For the first time in a long time, she felt as if the sun were shining.

And then it was as if she had broken the surface of the ocean. Her head came above and clarity rushed to her like waves. Her body froze, her eyes rolled to the back of her head and she saw nothing but white, felt nothing but hot magma dripping through her veins, dripping from between her legs. She vaguely heard her cry out Hermione's name; she was vaguely aware that Hermione was crying out hers, that she was shaking, shaking, and so was Ginny, and she didn't want the feeling to end -

It didn't. Not really. She collapsed on top of Hermione breathing heavily, barely seeing and feeling as if her body was floating. She gently pulled her hand away from Hermione's crotch and felt Hermione do the same, felt Hermione's heavy breath in her ear. It felt as if she should say something, but she didn't know what to say - or that she even could form words at the moment. She was in a far too blissful state to bother with spoken language.

So they said nothing. They simply curled into each other, holding on tightly as if they were the only things keeping each other grounded. Perhaps they were. Their eyes met briefly; Ginny could see something dark and husky in Hermione's normally calm brown eyes. And then, there was nothing but darkness.


	2. need and want

Chapter two, yada yada yada, read&review because you think it's/I'm awesome. Or not. (My god, am I tired.)

Leather & Cigarettes  
Chapter Two: need and/or want

Light leaking through the blinds and dancing across her eyes is what woke Hermione initially. It was the first time she had seen it in days; her eyes winced at the infiltration and blinked wildly, becoming accustomed. Her room was a blur of dark furniture, dark carpeting, and dark sheets, red hair fanning across her pillow -

_Red hair?_ She forced her eyes to focus on the shining auburn, slightly tangled. It led to a pale face, freckles littered across the bridge of a small nose, positioned over pink parted lips. A stubborn, slight jaw, a graceful neck with a few small red marks to ruin its perfection, and… Hermione swallowed, her pulse quickening. The bare sweep of a collarbone belonging to an equally bare body. The body of Ginny Weasley.

_Don't panic, Hermione_, she thought, taking deep, slow breaths in order to calm her racing pulse. _There's nothing to panic about. Just because you're naked, and she's naked, doesn't mean that you have anything to panic about._

She put a hand close to her mouth and started gnawing at the delicate skin, an old habit she'd picked up from her years at school. Hermione felt her eyes soften as she gazed down at the girl - no, woman; Ginny was nineteen now, after all - and traced her cheekbones with her eyes. There were dark circles beneath her closed eyes, so much worse than the ones Hermione had herself. It looked as though the redhead hadn't slept in weeks.

_Neither have you_, a voice pointed out, but she shrugged it off. Her work was all mental, all _I'm sorry to inform you, but…_ and potions. Forcing spells into ordinary objects: quills, watches, hair binders, for the protection of five. And yet still, so many people died…

"Stop," she said aloud, then quickly covered her mouth with her hand. Ginny didn't stir. Hermione sighed, shook her head to get her mind out of old thoughts and forced them to focus on the new. This situation in particular. She needed to sort things out. Her cool, logical brain couldn't handle the irrationality of her naked body and Ginny's naked body in the same bed. What had happened?

Like a book, she flipped through the pages of her mind and found the chapter on last night, skimmed through the memories until she found the time around midnight. She'd been on her way back to her apartment after buying more moths and powdered unicorn hooves for her protection potions when she had run into Ginny - or, when Ginny had run into her. They had talked, then a shadow had appeared from the alleyway: a Death Eater. He had tried to Petrify Ginny; she had quickly thrown up an anti-hex shield around both of them, and they had run for it. Hermione hadn't wanted more Death Eaters to be alerted of the battle. She'd taken them to a safer place where they could Apparate to her apartment. They had drunk tea together; Ginny had asked to stay the night. Not that Hermione wasn't going to offer in the first place, but - They had ended up in Hermione's room. She'd given pajamas to Ginny. Ginny had taken off her coat, a faded leather jacket, and held it out, looked around for someplace to put it. Hermione had reached out to take it, their hands had touched, and -

Hermione shuddered as her body and mind both remembered what had happened afterwards. Nothing could have prepared her for that kind of unbridled pleasure, that kind of carnal hunger. It was like she had been craving Ginny for all this time; she'd needed the other woman's touch without realizing it.

_But it wasn't just the sex_, she thought, brow furrowing. _It wasn't just instant gratification. You felt something else, too. A different kind of need. A different kind of want._ And yet she could not pinpoint it; she could not precisely say what she had felt, what she still felt, watching Ginny Weasley sleep in her bed.

Needing to do something other than lay around, she gingerly removed herself from the bed and grabbed her bathrobe from the closet, a silky number in eggplant with ancient runes swirling in grey. A present from Harry for Christmas two years ago. Somehow, they had still had time for Christmas.

She shook her head before she could get overwhelmed with the injustice of this war and, after throwing another glance towards the sleeping woman, went to the kitchen to make breakfast and tea for them both.

The kettle was just coming to a boil and the fourth pancake was just being slapped magically onto a hot plate as Ginny stumbled in sleepily, her hair in disarray and Hermione's tank top and pants looking as if the redhead had pulled them on while walking. Perhaps she had. Seeing her again, and clothed, made Hermione blush and nearly overflow their teacups. She hoped that the redhead hadn't noticed.

She hadn't. Ginny collapsed into a chair at the kitchen table and yawned loudly, rubbing her eyes with her fists, saying nothing. When Hermione started setting the table, Ginny wordlessly stood and helped.

"You don't have to help," Hermione told her, trying to take away the plate of pancakes.

Ginny held on stubbornly, shaking her head. "You don't have to do all the work," she retorted, and, wrestling the plate away from the brunette, set it resolutely on the table next to the butter and powdered sugar.

Hermione sighed, but couldn't help but smile. Somehow, this felt right, yet she couldn't figure out how - or why. It had been a year since they had last seen each other. Ginny had been in Romania with her troop and her brother Charlie, sniffing out Dark Wizards and Witches. Hermione, on the other hand, had stayed in England, helping Harry, Ron, and Dumbledore plan battle tactics and casting a slew of Invisibility and Protection spells on various people, groups, and buildings. She'd also been substituting for various teachers who were involved in the Order at Hogwarts, filling in for Transfiguration, Ancient Runes, and Defense Against the Dark Arts. In fact -

"Ginny, I don't know how long you want to stay here, but I have to go to Hogwarts today to fill in for McGonagall at two," she told Ginny, after swallowing a mouthful of pancake. "You can stay here, if you want to; there are plenty of protection spells on this apartment, so you'll be safe." Why did Ginny being safe matter so much? She was sure that the redhead had faced a lot more than Hermione's concern was given merit for. Ginny could take care of herself. If Hermione hadn't been there last night, she was sure that the girl could've taken on the Death Eater by herself and beaten him.

However, the more pressing matter was the fact that Ginny hadn't yet answered her. The redhead wasn't eating, either. Worry bubbled inside her, swelled into fear, and the panic she had felt at awakening.

She tried again. "Ginny?" she asked gently, tentatively reaching her hand across the table to touch Ginny's bare arm. "Are you listening to me?"

"What do you think happened last night?" Ginny asked her suddenly, taking her aback. Hermione opened her mouth to answer, but was cut off. "I don't know, really, either. It wasn't just sex - if it were just that, you wouldn't have come out here so calmly and made breakfast for us. You wouldn't've offered to let me stay here for the day."

"Ginny, I -" Hermione started, but Ginny silenced her with a finger on her lips. She inhaled sharply at the contact, feeling it rush across the rest of her skin.

"You felt that, didn't you?" Ginny whispered, not pulling her finger away. "This isn't just a random shag and then we're done."

Without thinking, Hermione nipped gently at Ginny's fingertip, making the other woman gasp lightly. "I didn't think that it was," Hermione answered, feeling absolutely calm, despite Ginny's outburst. She hesitated for a moment, trying to collect her thoughts in a logical manner. But what was logical about this at all? "And I don't want it to be. I don't quite understand it, but - I want you to stay here."

But Ginny shook her head, pulling her hand away slowly. "I can't stay here," she replied. "It would be too dangerous for both of us. We both know that your protection spells aren't perfect -" Hermione winced visibly, guilt stabbing her for all the dead bodies buried or cremated in England, all the letters she had had to write - "and I don't want either of us in a compromising situation."

It was logical. Hermione's mind grasped onto Ginny's rationality and went running with it, yet it had no idea where to go. "So where do we go from here?" she asked, for both her mind and her heart, which was also listening intently.

"I don't know," Ginny answered honestly, running a hand through her tangled hair. "All I know is that I haven't slept so well - or at all - in the past few weeks, but I felt safe enough here - with you - to do so. I didn't even freak out when I woke up in a different bed." She sighed. "I think I want this. I think I might even -" Ginny hesitated over the word, and Hermione could feel her uncertainty - "_need_ this." Her eyes searched and held Hermione's, a deep blue ocean to drown polished tiger's-eye. "Do you?"

Hermione felt overwhelmed. Her life had been spells and potions and books without emotion for the past year - all rationality, all logic and reasoning and recitation. This new chapter was littered with the exact opposite. She didn't know what to do, nor did she know what to think.

Did she want this? She thought back to the feeling of Ginny's fingers tracing swirls down her back, the feeling of soft lips on her neck. It had felt so good to be with someone, to fall asleep next to someone. To wake up and not be alone.

But did she need this? The past year haunted her then, that she had spent wondering how Ginny was doing, hoping beyond hope that she wouldn't receive an owl saying that her beloved redhead was lost forever, killed by some Death Eater in a foreign country, or at her doorstep. She remained mostly celibate; nobody wanted to share a bed with the Angel of Death. They were afraid that the next letter she wrote would be to their family.

Slowly, hesitantly, Hermione pushed back from the table and went over to Ginny, tilting the woman's chin so that their eyes met. She saw Ginny's pulse in her neck, the flecks of grey and green in her irises. The gorgeous way she was holding her breath.

Not breaking eye contact, she leaned in for a kiss, lips grazing against lips in a shy, tentative manner. Her eyes closed; her hand reached out and cupped Ginny's cheek gently. Ginny's arm came up and wrapped around her neck, fingers tangling themselves in her hair as the kiss deepened. Heat shot to her abdomen and only grew; her skin turned into gooseflesh. She thought about pulling away, wondering if she could - and realized that it wasn't just a matter of she didn't want to. She didn't think she could at all.

It was Ginny who did. The redhead looked up at her through glazed eyes and parted lips. Hermione stared back, oxygen suddenly hard to come by.

"Do you?" she repeated softly.

Hermione licked her lips and nodded slightly. "Yes," she whispered in reply.

Hermione's heart threatened to stop in her chest. She took in breath, swallowing it to her lungs, trying to be calm. Her world had turned completely upside down in the past twenty-four hours. Ginny had returned, they had slept together, and now they were talking about doing it again. _It doesn't make any sense!_ her logic screamed at her from the back of her head, tearing its metaphorical hair out at the development. _Fix it! Now!_

"After breakfast, I'm going to go," Ginny told the brunette, who snapped out of her mental struggle with a start. The redhead was staring at her with heavy eyes, ocean dark and unreadable. "But…" She hesitated; Hermione held her breath again, half-afraid. "I'll be back, later."

Hermione opened her mouth to ask when, but held her tongue. She simply nodded and returned to her seat, forcing the remains of her breakfast down her throat. The thought of Ginny leaving made her heart squeeze painfully, though she tried to force the feeling away, logic cracking down and trying to reign again. It only half-worked; by the time they had both finished, sending their plates flying to the sink, she had changed it to a dull, questionable ache.

Ginny returned to Hermione's room briefly to change back into her clothes, leather jacket slung over one arm when she came back out again. _All black_, Hermione noted, finding it typical of most people she knew. Everyone was in constant mourning. Everyone thought it to be constant night.

They stood awkwardly together in the middle of the living room, the same nervousness of last night creeping back into the space between them. Hermione couldn't shake the feeling that maybe this would be goodbye. No one could ever know the future, not even the greatest seer in the world. Not even the Angel of Death.

"Be careful," she told Ginny, the phrase sounding flat as it fell out of her mouth and collapsed, lifeless, on the floor at their feet.

Ginny seemed to notice its death, but didn't say anything about it. After all, death was a constant here. "I always am," the redhead replied. "You - good luck teaching today." She half-smiled. "I remember how bad some of us were."

Hermione couldn't help but return the smile. "So do I." Their eyes met then shyly parted. Logic screamed at her again about the ridiculousness of all that she was doing. She told it to shut the bloody hell up. "Ginny, I -" Everything she wanted to say seemed to stall on her tongue. She looked again at the woman, helplessly pleading for the right words.

Ginny came to her then, pressing their foreheads together. Ginny's eyes blurred into one; her lips were dangerously close to hers. Her desperation for _something_ only multiplied. "Shh," she said softly, "it's okay. Everything's okay. Nothing bad is going to happen to me. And I'll be back here to be with you tonight."

The brunette nodded, though uncertainty still plagued her thoughts. Ginny must have noticed, because when her lips pressed against hers for a kiss, they lingered perhaps longer than they should. Hermione savored in the softness, quickly cataloguing the feelings so she could remember them - just in case.

Their lips parted and their eyes met and Hermione felt herself swimming in that ocean of blue again. It was then that she wondered if maybe, just maybe, it was more of just a question of need and/or want. If maybe it was a question of something much deeper.

"Later," Ginny said softly, and then she was gone.


	3. angels and demons

New chapter! More emotional turmoil! Suck it up and enjoy! Dedicated particularly to the girl who knows who she is.

Leather & Cigarettes  
Chapter Three: angels and demons

Ginny lit a cigarette and looked up at the sky. _It's going to rain again_, she thought to herself, frowning at the mess of dark clouds, too dismal for even midnight. She needed coffee again. Her eyes were beginning to fog over with fatigue. She couldn't fall asleep right now. Not now.

_I need to see her again_, she thought, feeling unmerited frustration. _I can't… I can't have ties like these. I can't get attached to her like this. It was only one night. It's only going to happen sometimes. But I told her I would come back tonight. I want to. I need to._

Her feet were carrying along the London sidewalks. She was too preoccupied to worry about where they were taking her. They knew better not to take her someplace dangerous; they had memorized the sidewalks, the shadows of buildings where she had fought. She wouldn't return to those places unless she absolutely had to.

_That fling we had in her fifth year - it was just that. A fling._ Internally, she flinched at the word. _She didn't _really _have feelings for me. I suppressed my feelings for her. It's just like that all over again. We're just older and we know better not to let it get the better of us._

Sure, they had whispered "I love you's" and held hands in the hallways, but it hadn't meant anything. They had let everyone know, ignorantly unafraid. Fifth year ended, summer came, and they pursued their "relationship" until August, when Ginny herself had abruptly broke it off. Sex without love seemed so pointless, then. It seemed like such a dirty waste of emotion. Girlish temptation must be washed away with time, she told herself over and over again. Hermione moved on, dated Ron for a year. They broke it off when Ron fell in love with Lavender Brown. They were still together. They had almost gotten killed because of their emotions far too many times.

_They're dumb if they think they can survive this with emotional attachments,_ she thought fiercely, throwing her finished cigarette to the ground more aggressively than needed. The heel of her boot came into contact with the still-burning cherry and stamped it out. No more glow. No more red fire. The black cigarette disappeared in the shadows.

Watching and hearing about her friends, people she knew, dying, always made her feel sick. What if she let herself love Hermione and something happened to the brunette? She knew she wouldn't be able to go on. She knew she would fail Harry, Ron, Dumbledore, everyone who was counting on her to do her job. She was a fighter; she was an interrogator of secrets. She killed and she brought in hostages and she killed them when they were finished. There wasn't any time for mercy or second chances, and she hated herself for it.

But just that night with Hermione made her feel - clean. New. Like she was a phoenix, born from the ashes of late nights under streetlights, surrounded by the bodies of the dead and dying and those who were still struggling to fight. She had woken up that morning and stretched out her newfound wings, fluttered to the kitchen to the woman who made her feel something other than pain, hate, and the remorse of too many deaths. Wasn't that worth getting even remotely attached for?

She just shook her head angrily at herself and Apparated to the apartment she remembered in her head.

Ginny found Hermione hard at work. Or at least, found the woman writing on pieces of parchment, a hard look to her usually soft features. She found a lump in her throat and she couldn't speak, and Hermione didn't look up. _The Angel of Death_, she thought despite herself, and shuddered. Despite everything, she had to remember whom she was sleeping with.

"Justin Finch-Fletchley died tonight," Hermione's voice was weary, and caught the redhead by surprise. "His parents are divorced; I have two letters to write."

She said it as an explanation not needing a response, so Ginny stayed silent. Instead, she moved to the kitchen and put a kettle of tea on. The Muggle stove burned red, like the ends of her cigarettes. Otherwise, the strange coils were charcoal grey, sleeping and cold.

Ginny leaned against the opposite counter and watched it, letting her eyes go out of focus as her thoughts took over. Her mother would have scrutinized her for watching the kettle; after all, even Witches believed that watched pots never boiled. It was the same with people, really. Those who were constantly in the limelight couldn't blow up, couldn't explode and display their hearts on their sleeves. Harry Potter was a man made of steel. He would get in front of all of Dumbledore's Army, the resistance's namesake standing off to the side with a wise half-smile on his face, and make speeches about horrific deaths and horrific victories, lead moments of silence and acknowledge the dead. Give orders, give commands. And everyone loved him for being so strong, so untouchable. He was like a God. He had never broken. Not like Dumbledore, whose blackened, useless hand was a huge letdown to all those who had thought him invincible; whose kind galaxy eyes had become weary and sunken. Dumbledore was fading. The Boy Who Lived was not.

High-pitched whistling dragged her out of her mental state and pulled her to the stove. She reached out to turn the stove off, and was about to grab mugs for them both, but she realized she didn't know where they were.

"Second cupboard to your right," came a voice behind her. A cupboard to the one right of her hand swung open. Ginny reached for two cups, one black and one blue. The same cups they had used the night before. Ginny liked routine where she could get it.

Arms snaked around her, making her breath catch in her throat. Then, a hand reached up and delicately dropped a tea bag into each mug, the clear liquid turning dark almost immediately. Ginny turned her head slightly to one side to get a glimpse at the brunette, but soft lips coaxed her eyes closed and her mouth to be captured most willingly. Ginny's head went fuzzy, thoughts swimming slowly then drowning in the waves of emotion and heat racing to her abdomen, glowing like fireflies through her veins. It was this electricity that had brought her back, right? Not anything else - it was just sex. It was just a comforting fuck.

They broke apart and Ginny hid her confusing thoughts with a sardonic smile. "Finished?" she asked, and handed her the blue cup.

Hermione nodded, smiled slightly. "After awhile, they begin to write themselves," she replied. "It's not hard."

"Physically, at least," Ginny finished for her, and noticed how her eyes flinched. "Don't worry, Hermione. At least their families can know."

Hermione nodded and sighed, led them back into the living room. They sat on the couch and talked pleasantly about their days, about the weather, about what books they had read recently. Ginny told her stories about her trip to Romania (leaving out the ones about Charlie) and made the brunette gasp and laugh, depending on the tale. It was nice, sitting there like they were, as if nothing had ever gone wrong in their lives. They were just normal women, enjoying a spot of tea.

_At one in the morning_, Ginny reminded herself, and stifled a sigh.

The tea disappeared, the conversation led to less than pleasant topics. Ginny heard herself asking the question that had been in the back of her head for a year now, but had never been brave enough to ask.

"Hermione, have you been with anyone else?"

Hermione looked taken aback by the question, blinking in the dim lamplight as if she had been asked to produce a particularly difficult fact. Ginny waited, wondering why it felt so important to ask, and why she was so dreading the answer.

"Like this?" Hermione finally asked for clarification, and Ginny nodded. The brunette sighed lightly, twisted her mouth into a frown. "Well, not really like this… I had a few, um, relations with Fleur Delacour, when she came to personally thank me for saving her sister…" She winced, shaking her head a little. "But it was nothing like this. She was only using me to make herself forget what a horrible person she is." Hermione scoffed a little, and Ginny felt her heart sink. Wasn't that what she was doing? "But this, this…" She seemed like she didn't have any other way to describe it. Instead of trying to find the right words, however, she just soldiered on through. "This feels different. I honestly don't think that's why you came back tonight."

Ginny swallowed and tried to think of something to say in response. Was she using Hermione? The woman did make her forget about the war going on outside, inside, everywhere. But Ginny already felt dirty about the things that she did - why would she give herself more reasons to hate the person that she was? Using Hermione, it wasn't worth it. The woman was so sweet, so blissfully wonderful, almost pristine. A fallen angel, tainted by circumstance. And Ginny, there was no way that the redhead could compare to Hermione. She was a fire-haired demon, a hot-tempered temptress, pulling other woman into bed to make herself feel more alive, just to toss them out of her apartment before the night was done. They had all been Muggles. Trying to bed her fellow fighters seemed like a ridiculous risk to take. After all, some of the Muggles had tried to contact her after their trysts, pleading love and commitment and all the things that Ginny just couldn't do.

So what was so special about this case? _I'm screwing the Angel of Death, the woman who would be writing the letter of my death to my family if that were ever the case, the woman who protects me and my group and so many others from death, _Ginny thought coldly. _There's got to be something fucked up about this. So why am I here?_

No, it couldn't be what she thought it was. If it was, she would be dead on the spot, and so would Hermione.

No, it wasn't that. That tiny, insignificant, glorious thing. No, no, it wasn't.

"Hermione," she heard herself begin, after sucking in too much breath. She let it all out on the last syllable of the brunette's name, just to be cut off from air altogether by the woman's gorgeous and tempting lips.

They groped at each other's clothes, ripping and clawing and pulling off the offending articles of clothing; black, black, they only wore black, just to be peeled away to reveal the scarred and battered pale bodies beneath. Except Ginny, her skin was golden-tinted from a childhood in the sun. Hermione was pale, so pale, so covered in pink-tinted scars. Ginny pushed the woman into the couch and started running her tongue over the old wounds, making her gasp, guttural moans. They were mostly naked now, save their soaking panties in baby blue and lace (Hermione) and simple black cotton (Ginny), and Ginny tugged them off hastily and without ceremony.

Ginny flicked her tongue over the smooth, taut skin of Hermione's stomach, dipping into her bellybutton to make the older woman giggle softly, then moan again as she moved lower, leaving love bites along her protruding hips. _So helpless,_ Ginny thought wickedly to herself with a grin as she moved with deliberate slowness across Hermione's thighs, the skin as cut up as the rest of her, with freshly inflicted wounds red and scabbed over on her left leg. Ginny ran a gentle finger across the damaged skin and gave Hermione a brief understanding look. Hermione simply nodded, dark eyes glazed over with desire and anticipation.

Breathing hot air before giving her what she wanted. Ginny was a horrible tease, but she enjoyed the sounds Hermione made as she did so, enjoyed the sensation of Hermione's fingers wrapping into her already tangled hair and tugging, pushing towards her begging clit. Obliging, tasting the sweetness that was the brunette, making the woman's fingers tug more, making her throat constrict and open in heavy breathing and barely controlled whimpering, eyes tightly shut. Was it so wrong to enjoy this? Was it so wrong to indulge?

Hermione's thighs pressed into the side of her head; Ginny snaked her arm up and slid slender fingers inside of her, curling the tips and pressing, lightly, on the damp flesh. She couldn't help but grin in satisfaction at Hermione's sudden and almost painful intake of breath, and the way her hips were moving rhythmically to the ministrations of her fingers.

"Yes, Ginny - please - oh gods -"

Broken cries, breathing becoming more and more hitched, frantically bucking hips. Ginny's tongue darted and twisted, replaced her fingers within her briefly before returning to its former actions. Hermione's fingers dug into her skull, sending delicious chills down Ginny's spine, and a free hand reached down and gripped Ginny's tightly. Their eyes met and Ginny felt something indescribable flood her senses, just as Hermione's body shook and boiled over in orgasm - once, twice, thrice, and then she was still save her heaving chest.

Ginny wiped her mouth and chin off on Hermione's thigh and licked her fingers clean before being pulled by the mostly limp woman up and over her body, until her head was resting against the brunette's soft breasts. Their limbs twisted together and held onto each other's bodies, enjoying the warmth radiating off of both of them.

It was comforting. Hermione's body was soft in all the right places, and yet she was still so fragile. The brunette's pale, slender fingers began raking gently through Ginny's tangled auburn mane, playing with the red-soaked locks, taking in the scent of her shampoo. Ginny couldn't remember the last time she had simply laid naked with another body. She couldn't remember the last time she had felt good just because. She hadn't even come, yet the glow of orgasm was washing over her body like it had been her own.

_Fuck_, she thought, as the realization hit her, yet it wasn't as bad as she originally thought. It just was, had been, and would be. But what was she going to do?

"Ginny," Hermione said, voice soft and weak still from her orgasm, but sweet and gentle. Ginny met slowly focusing brown eyes and raised her eyebrows expectantly. The brunette hesitated for a moment more, then smiled shyly, as if she were about to pour her heart out in secrets. "I really care about you."

_This is how it's supposed to be_, Ginny thought with resignation, and smiled in response. "I really care about you, too, 'Mione." And she meant it. She meant it probably more than she could ever say.

Hermione's lips parted like she was about to speak; Ginny watched those luscious lips and waited for them to move. When they did, the words they spoke were deliberate and calculated. "I know there's a war going on," she said, "but do you think…"

"That we could be together when it's over?" Ginny finished softly, and Hermione nodded. Ginny found herself smiling again, the idea forming, spreading like a glorious disease, making her head and heart feel fuzzy with emotion. "I'd like that."

Ginny never knew that a smile could make her feel so good. The smile that appeared slowly like molasses was just as sweet, and shone brightly like the afternoon sun - the real sun, not the pale imitation that shined outside when it wasn't raining. This was the real thing, something that could only be imagined.

Their lips met by destiny, Ginny found herself laying on her back with the brunette on top of her, their joined sweat trickling slowly between them. Desperate, like they were trying to _prove_ it, prove that _yes, this is what I want_.

_Yes, _Ginny thought, fuzzy-headed, to herself, as Hermione's tongue against her breasts, her navel, and finally her begging-to-be-touched clit made her climax more times than she could count, _I want to feel your body against mine always. _Waves were crashing against her body as the first signs of sunrise filled the apartment.

And they would worry about the consequences of the sunlight later.


	4. restrictions and rings

Hiatus? Haha, I lied. Yeah, so, I guess all I needed was a jump start in the right direction. Hope you all enjoy the chapter. Review and stuff, but only if you've read.

Leather & Cigarettes  
Chapter Four: restrictions and rings

The owl pecked at Hermione's window in the middle of the afternoon, a snowy bird the brunette recognized almost immediately as Hedwig. Surprised and slightly disconcerted, she stood from the couch and let the messenger in, petting her gingerly on the beak before taking the offered letter.

_Don't leave the apartment again unless ordered. They're looking for you._

The parchment burst into flames only moments after her eyes slid over the last word. She swore as fire licked at her hands, and stamped it out on her carpeting. Hedwig hooted amusedly.

"I should have never taught him that spell," Hermione muttered angrily, casting a cleaning charm and low-scale healing spell on her hands. "And he has no right to boss me around." Hedwig looked at her reproachfully, and the brunette sighed. "All right, fine, I suppose he has _some_ right. I know there's a good chance that they could follow me back home, even if I Apparate. But why is he so certain I can't take care of myself?"

The white bird cooed at her again, opening and closing its beak. Hermione couldn't help but smile lightly, and reached for the bag of owl treats hanging next to the window, letting Hedwig nip it from her fingers. "I doubt your master needs a reply, so I'll let you be on your way." The owl nipped at her fingers again affectionately before going out the window, into the overcast afternoon sky.

The brunette sighed again, rubbing her face with her hands. She knew how important her work was to the war – she was the only one willing and patient enough to invent new spells and research, after Lupin and Tonks died together in battle. Harry sent her almost daily reports on how her spells worked out, having no space of her own to test them out without damaging her apartment. She and Harry had both agreed that it would be better for her to stay where she was at all times, unless called upon by Harry himself or Hogwarts. It seemed logical enough – no one wanted the enemy to have the brains of their entire operation. And yet…

"And yet I'm basically suffocating in here," Hermione complained aloud, casting her eyes towards the scraps of parchment and open books and all the other objects that spoke of her solitude. "I understand how Sirius felt. And Harry should know how this feels, too. He was the one who had to be cooped up at the Dursleys every summer…"

Feeling restless now, she went to the kitchen to put on a kettle of tea. She rarely ate anymore; she didn't have the appetite. Though she wasn't on the actual battlefield, she had just a good idea as anyone how many bodies there were. She got a sick feeling in her stomach every time the owls came; the first to tell her there was to be a battle, the second to tell her who on their side had been killed or gone missing. But even if they went missing, she didn't try to give their families any hope. More than liking, those who had been captured were tortured to death, and then turned into Inferi.

_Chamomile, _she chose from her wide selection of teas. She needed to calm down. Getting upset over what was happening out there and her own situation was pointless, and she knew it. Harry was, after all, just looking after her – as a war leader and a friend. He didn't want her to be hurt just as much as she didn't.

_But would it really be horrible to get out every once in a while?_ She remembered the last time she went out, and running into Ginny. She smiled in spite of herself. Though the outside encounter had led to a Death Eater attack, there really wasn't any reason to panic, in Hermione's opinion. Unless he had been sent specifically to find her…

She banished the uncomfortable thought from her mind and went back to thinking about Ginny. The redheaded woman was an amazing lover and a good companion. They'd always gotten along well. She didn't see why that would ever change. But it was getting harder and harder for her to beat down the feelings that threatened to erupt in her every time the redhead was near. She knew the dangers of attachment. She knew that Lavender and Ron had gotten into more scrapes than not simply because they were trying to save each other more than their other team mates. She knew they had been warned by Harry over and over again to not be so obvious. Ron was Harry's right hand man – and if Lavender was taken, or killed, it was clear that the red-haired male would try to save her, and what would happen then? Ron gone, probably killed by trying heroics or simply kept as ransom, Harry in a pinch, and there was no way Harry was ever going to let his best mate be killed by some lackey of Voldemort's. They would be sent back by leaps and bounds, maybe even defeated. Of course they would ask for Harry in place of Ron and Lavender. Harry would have no choice put to agree. Even now, he still left his emotions hanging on his sleeves, in his shining emerald eyes.

"But that doesn't mean the same thing will happen to Ginny and me," she said fiercely, slamming her mug down on the counter harder than necessary. "I mean, it's only her out in battle, not me, and I'm pretty safe up here in this apartment. There are ten different levels of protection on the walls and windows; my fireplace has restricted Floo connections and protections on _that_ as well. _And_ this apartment is Unplottable on magical maps. Only those who know exactly where it is can get in here. There's a very slim chance that--"

Hermione's rant was interrupted by a second pecking at her window. Frustrated and surly, the brunette practically stomped to the window, letting in a tawny-feathered owl with a scowl. "Battle, I assume?" she asked it, removing the roll of parchment.

_Battle at 6p.m. at King's Cross. Ginny Weasley's Firebreathers to report to Headquarters at 5p.m. for specific instructions._

The more formal note was followed by the same chicken scratch of Harry's she had seen only half an hour ago:

_Remember what I said about leaving._

This one didn't burst into flames. Hermione half-screamed in frustration, causing the owl to ruffle its feathers uncomfortably. She jabbed an owl treat at it, earning her a sharp bite from the beak's owner. It gave her a dirty look before flying away.

Hermione sucked at her bleeding wound in worry and frustration. Ginny was going to be fighting this evening. Ginny could be hurt, or killed; or even worse, captured. What would Hermione do then? What would Harry do? Ginny was important, but not important enough to risk the necks of ten people to rescue her. Of course Ginny must know that. Hermione knew it well enough. There had to be something she could do, there _had_ to be…

"If I leave, I could be caught; not necessarily by Death Eaters, but by Harry," she whispered past her thumb, still tasting copper in her mouth. "He would skin me alive. I do important work. I can't throw it away just to personally protect Ginny; for the war, it's not worth it." She closed her eyes against the sting of truth in her eyes. "We said no attachments. They're too dangerous. But I couldn't help it…"

She opened her eyes and strode purposely towards her bedroom, not bothering to flick on the light switch. She pushed open the closet door and started sifting through the piles and piles of personal items she used specifically for her protection spells, things small enough to fit in pockets or on chains. There had to be something she could give Ginny, maybe even enough to give to everyone on her team…

"Aha!" she cried in triumph, finding a box of old rings. They were all simple bands in silver and gold, Claddaghs, gemstones, intricate Celtic knots. It wasn't out of the ordinary to wear rings, and she could charm them to be a perfect fit for whoever the wearer was.

She grinned, pleased with herself, and hauled the box back to the living room. There were forty in Ginny's group, as far as she could remember, though it wouldn't help to have extras, just in case… She sat herself down on the couch and started flipping through her old notes, finding her self-designed protection spells. She would make these all extra strong, send them to Harry, and be… mostly satisfied with her work.

She glanced at the time – two hours to go until their debriefing at headquarters. Brow furrowed and wand out, she began to work.

…

Hermione breathed heavily as she fell back onto the couch, wand slipping away from her fingers. Fifty sparkling rings twinkled up at her from the coffee table. Fifty, with only fifteen minutes to spare until five o'clock. She grinned tiredly and forced herself to stand. An owl would be less reliable for a job like this; it would be too easy to get lost or intercepted and her work would become worthless. No, she would simply have to deliver them herself – not a direct disobedience, but it would still rile Harry's feathers a little that she left without his permission. She grinned even wider and fluffed her hair a little, pulling it all into a bun on her head.

"Probably my best work yet," she preened to herself, scooping them all back into the box. She trotted to her bedroom and slipped on some shoes, humming happily to herself. "There's no way Harry can be angry." With that thought in her mind, she disappeared with a distinct crack.

She appeared again in Harry and Dumbledore's office, box under her arm. The two men were sitting at the table, surrounded by all the treasures and artifacts Dumbledore had collected during his life; in all honesty, it didn't look too different from his office at Hogwarts, though there was an obvious lack of portraits. Now, more than ever, they were careful about painted spies sneaking off to tell their secrets.

"Miss Granger," Dumbledore greeted her pleasantly, a serene smile on his face. He didn't seem at all disconcerted that she had appeared; indeed, he looked rather pleased at her arrival. "Lovely to see you again."

She bowed her head in respect slightly, and returned his smile. "Professor," she said politely, then turned her attention to Harry. The young man looked like he hadn't slept in days, but that was common practice. His hair was horribly disheveled, as if he had just been flying, and his robes were haphazardly put on. She wondered, vaguely, if maybe they were getting closer… "I brought some new protection for the battle tonight."

Harry smiled, but it was small and barely stretched his lips. "For Ginny?" he asked, raising one eyebrow.

Hermione ignored him, but couldn't help the rise of a blush on her pale cheeks. "I've managed to perfect a detector for the Killing Curse," she continued, opening the top to show him the rings she had bewitched. "Each ring's centerpiece glows red and heats up when the Killing Curse is in close proximity – meaning, ten feet in radius or less. It occurs as soon as the curse is aimed, giving the wearer – hopefully – amble time to get out of the way." She cleared her throat; she really hated explaining her work to other people, even Harry. He always had a look of feigned interest on his face that drove her mad. "I've also managed to add a spell that lessens the pain and mental effects of the Cruciatus curse, and there's extra protection to block the use of the Imperius curse against the wearer."

"Are all other previous protections in place as well?" Harry asked curiously.

Hermione nodded. "And strengthened from their former levels."

There was silence in the office for a while. Hermione was waiting for dismissal, but Dumbledore surprised her.

"I'm sure Harry will agree when I say that it will be difficult to relay all this information back again on our troops," the professor said kindly. "Therefore, I think it would be best for you to stay for an explanation in your own words of these bonuses, and through the battle so you may see for yourself how these have helped." The old man smiled brightly at her. "That will also eliminate the need to send about fifty different owls to your apartment tonight. Don't you agree, Harry?"

Harry nodded his affirmation, eyes watching Hermione with a curious and closed expression. He would, of course, know about her first encounter with Ginny outside the coffee shop, but maybe not the numerous other times Ginny had appeared at her apartment. She had made him promise not to send spies to her apartment at all times; it was embarrassing to hear sniggering every time she went in and out of the shower, and she'd boxed many a peeping-toms ears in who swore up and down they had been sent there for 'her protection'. But did Harry know how deep their affair had become?

"It's five," he said flatly, standing. "They should be here."

Hermione let out her held breath and followed Harry out the door, Dumbledore staying behind. She waved goodbye to him before the door shut, staring straight ahead as they walked down the hallway to the main conference room.

Headquarters was quite extensive. The Order of the Phoenix had spent months furnishing an old factory once Grimmauld Place became too small for their operations, but they hadn't wasted their time. It was fabulous and massive, filled with extensive rooms for combat training, stratagems, battle plans, weapons and spell testing, and hostages. There were also furnished quarters for those who didn't want to or simply had no choice but to stay there.

Ron greeted her animatedly when they arrived at the conference room, pulling her into a warm hug. His hair was just as shaggy as it had ever been at school, and his light blue eyes looked happy, but tired. He was lucky enough to still be in regular contact with his other living family members; Molly and Arthur even lived at headquarters, once the Burrow had become unsafe.

"New protection spells?" he asked brightly, rummaging in her box. "These are nice. You honestly keep this kind of stuff around the house?"

"That's my job, Ronald," she told him, in teasing exasperation. "I'm supposed to keep things like these around my house."

The joking came to a stop almost immediately, however. The troops had arrived.

Hermione felt it difficult to breathe when she saw Ginny walking calmly at the front, wand out. She was wearing the same leather jacket, the same dark jeans, the same beat-up shoes, but there was something different about her. Her eyes, usually blue-grey around Hermione, had darkened to indigo; she had a hard look to her face, as if nothing could stop her.

She couldn't help but watch her, begging for a sign of acknowledgement – and hating herself for her. She swore she saw Ginny's eyes flicker to her as Harry addressed them, talking objectives, saw the hunger and longing Ginny always portrayed in her eyes when she looked at her, but she didn't dare hope. There was too much at stake to hope.

"…Hermione Granger, our specialist in protection spells, has brought some upgraded items for you to wear during this battle," Harry finished, and gave Hermione a meaningful look. Feeling stupid for being so distracted, she took a deep breath and spoke.

"They're rings," she said, in an authoritative voice, coming to stand next to Harry. "Rather nondescript; they're meant to look like something you'd wear on a regular basis, not something the enemy should suspect as something magical. Therefore, in the case of your capture, the enemy will not remove this small piece of jewelry, and you will be able to block most forms of torture."

She went on to describe the new features, finding herself walking among them as she spoke, pulling out the rings and handing them to each person. The witches and wizards looked at them in surprise and interest, placing them on their fingers. When she reached Ginny, they locked eyes; Hermione could feel her pulse quicken. She pulled out a ring and slid it, gently, onto Ginny's ring finger, feeling it grow slightly in size to fit. "What do you think, captain?" she said softly.

Ginny's mouth twitched a little. "Have they been tested?" the redhead asked, though her voice was soft.

Hermione frowned. "Unfortunately, no," she replied, in a loud voice again, and pulled herself away from the woman. Ginny's hardened mask returned into place. "These rings have not been tested; I've only just finished them with precious minutes to spare before your arrival. However, I doubt that Harry or Dumbledore would be confident in giving them to you for your protection if they weren't confident in my abilities."

"But people have died under your protection," someone from the back called out, a bit nastily. A few murmurs of agreement flooded the room.

Hermione felt herself stiffen, guilt washing over her senses. She could feel her eyes go out of focus, all the lists of people she had received, the letters she had to write; it was the only reason why she had agreed to write them. She felt responsible for their deaths.

"You can't stop death if it's really after you," Ginny said flatly, over the small pockets of conversations. Everyone went still. "Nothing's fool-proof. This is the best she's given us to avoid _Avada Kedavra_. There's no warning, otherwise. I'd have to say that's a pretty good deal, and job well done on Hermione's part."

"So, basically, it's your own fault if you get squashed," said a cheerful voice close to Ginny. Many laughed.

"Like Ginny said, nothing's fool-proof," Hermione said, finding her voice again. "Obviously, you're going to have to pay attention and be cautious. If it's a question of your death over the enemy's, make it be theirs. There's no time for mercy anymore."

Harry nodded his agreement. "Prepare yourselves and head for King's Cross. You know what you have to do. Good luck."

Ginny spared Hermione a final glance before turning and following her troops out.

"Good luck," Hermione echoed softly.


	5. fears and warnings

I wrote the sex scene while processing hair dye. How's that for multitasking? Looks like the lovers are facing some problems. Poor Ginny.

Leather & Cigarettes  
Chapter Five: fears and warnings

"At least nobody died," Ginny mumbled to herself with a relieved sigh, followed by a wince at the gash in her leg.

She was just coming back to headquarters; the battle had ended quickly, for the better. Hermione's protection rings had been top-notch. Everyone had managed to pay attention and dodge whatever Killing Curses came their way. They'd even been able to capture some Death Eaters and bring them back with them, disarmed and sulking under their masks. The interrogators would deal with them later. As for Ginny, she needed the hospital wing.

Harry was in front of her; she practically fell onto him, the pain in her leg making her unable to keep herself up. She gasped and gritted her teeth.

"Wow, having trouble?" he asked, with a strained grin. He helped her steady herself, but she was starting to feel delirious, hot blood slinking down her leg, down her side. They weren't fatal, but they burned; magical wounds always hurt worse.

Harry was replaced by a shorter brunette. Ginny allowed her left arm to be thrown around the woman's shoulders, and led down the hallway towards the hospital wing. She was too tired and sore and covered in blood – hers and others' – to talk properly, but she enjoyed the warmth emanating from the brunette's body. It was comforting.

"Gods, you look awful," whispered the woman next to her. Ginny turned her head to the side, the action taking far too long, to see one tear after the other fall down the woman's face. Hermione's face. Hermione?

"What are you doing here?" Ginny murmured in surprise. "Hermione, please, don't cry… I'm going to be fine…"

"Sure, that's what you'll always say, but what happens on the day that you're _not_ going to be fine?" Hermione replied fiercely, her hysterics rising. "I was so scared for you, I still am. It was so hard letting you leave without being able to say goodbye… What if I don't get to say goodbye and you…?" This made the brunette burst into another fit of sobs.

Ginny sighed, forcing her brain to focus on the sobbing girl next to her. Honestly, why did they always have to cry? "Listen, Hermione, I'm always really careful," she said, in an attempt to sooth. "And c'mon, those rings you made are excellent. They made all of us a lot more aware of our surroundings. I promise; I'm always going to come back to you, okay? Don't cry. It'll be bad, y'know, if you're crying when we get there… My mum likes to help out in the hospital wing…"

Hermione gave her a watery smile and Ginny managed to dip down a little to kiss her forehead lightly. The brunette looked up at her with something shining in her eyes that made Ginny's heart skip a beat.

"Now if you excuse me, 'm gonna pass out on that bed over there," she mumbled as they approached the door. Hermione pushed it open and Ginny stumbled out of her arms into an empty bed, feeling the world spin around her. "Hey, Mum."

Molly Weasley sighed in an exasperated tone; it was a common sight to see the both of them in the hospital wing – Molly, to change bandages and perform charms; and Ginny, to receive both.

"Can't you take care of yourself?" Molly scolded, though Ginny knew she was just trying to hide her concern. "You should've taken a page out of Hermione's book and done something stay-at-home! You'd save yourself a lot of damage!"

Ginny waved her hand nonchalantly. "No, no, I'm fine," she insisted, feeling her vision fade. "Really… I'm okay."

Molly simply sighed again and sat herself down next to the bed, pushing Ginny's clothes out of the way to further examine the wounds. "I'll heal these up for you," the eldest Weasley female grumbled. "You'll be fine in an hour."

"Okay," Ginny heard herself respond from someplace far away, before she passed away into darkness.

…

Ginny woke again all at once, like she normally did. The bandages were gone and it was dimly lit in the hospital wing; probably to promote sleep for those who were over-nighters. Ginny had no desire to be one of those people; she grinned when she thought of the delicious amber-eyed goddess probably thinking of her, too. It almost made her want to laugh in delight, but she suppressed it quickly. There wasn't any point in drawing attention to herself.

She crawled out of bed and started pulling on the clothes stripped from her; her pants, her shoes, her jacket. Her body was still sore in a few places, namely her back and legs, but those problems would heal themselves in time. Besides, she knew for a fact that Harry wouldn't pull them into another battle for a few more weeks; though unless he could get Hermione to make more rings, they'd have to give theirs up.

Ginny frowned, admiring the silver band around her left ring finger. It was old and the silver dim, but the magic in it made it sparkle just a little. She twisted it around, watching the magic reflect off of candle light, and noticed for the first time that the heart was pointing in.

"The nerve of some people," Ginny said softly to herself, but she blushed anyway and didn't try to fix it. She _was_ Hermione's anyway, wasn't she? Sure, maybe they had never said it aloud, besides a vague promise to be together after the war, but… It seemed pretty legitimate. If not for the dangerous implications, Ginny would've asked the woman out on numerous dates, bought her dinner, something pretty to wear, kissed her over glasses of wine…

"Out of the gutter, Weasley," she growled as she pushed herself up, swinging her previously injured leg around to make sure it worked okay, and Apparated out. No one would even notice she was gone.

She had barely a moment to gather her surroundings again when a pair of arms threw themselves around her and lips crashed over hers, hungrily coaxing her mouth open. She grinned and complied, wrapping herself into Hermione's body and letting herself float downstream with the surprisingly scantily clad brunette, already teasing her sensitive flesh by brushing her fingers underneath her clothing.

"Are you feeling okay?" Hermione asked her suddenly, pulling away and looking at her with a furrowed brow.

Ginny laughed, nipping at her neck teasingly. "If I wasn't, do you think I would've stayed standing when you jumped me?" the redhead questioned.

Hermione thought for a moment and shook her head. "Probably not."

"Exactly." She didn't waste anymore time with talking. Instead, she captured the brunette's lips with her own again hungrily, reveling in the taste of her and the feel of her, becoming overwhelmed by the emotions filling her.

Hermione was careful when she took Ginny's clothes off, something the redhead was grateful for. Despite the fact that magic healed quickly, there were always ghost pains that stayed behind. They kissed their way into the bedroom, Ginny grinning and peeling off Hermione's slinky lingerie, leaving it to litter the hallway. When the door closed behind them, Ginny pressed Hermione dominatingly against the door, enjoying the way the smaller brunette gasped and looked up at her with lust-filled eyes. She kissed her passionately again, biting down on her bottom lip playfully, teasing her mouth with her tongue – before she dashed away quickly, crawling underneath the covers of Hermione's bed before the other woman could even process what had happened.

"What?" Hermione said incredulously, blinking as Ginny's head peeked out from underneath her dark comforter. "You are the strangest person I've ever made love to," she added slowly after a few more heartbeats, laughing.

Ginny just grinned again. She was feeling so lighthearted, it was amazing. What was Hermione doing to her, anyway? She'd never acted like this in her life, other than with the brunette – so what did that mean? But none of that mattered right now. What mattered now was trying to get Hermione into the bed, making love to her for a few hours, and then falling blissfully asleep in the brunette's arms.

"I'll take that as a compliment!" Ginny squeaked, before ducking her head beneath the sheets again, sniggering to herself.

She heard Hermione snort in incredulous laughter and the steps she took closer to the bed, but held still, as if lack of movement would hide her better. But as she felt Hermione's body crawl into the bed and her warm skin slide against hers, she couldn't help but let out a satisfied moan and curl her back to better be wrapped up by the older woman.

"My, oh, my," Hermione whispered in her ear, her breathing driving Ginny even madder with desire. "I do believe I've found a Ginny in my bed."

Ginny turned her head to look at the brunette, feigning disbelief. "A Ginny? Where?"

Hermione's only answer was to kiss her. Ginny felt herself falling into the feeling, turning her body around so she could wrap her arms around the older girl, pull her on top of her. Their hands roamed over every possible inch of skin, their moans turned into music to their ears as the darkness cradled their bodies, pushed them closer together. That's what it was about, right? Finding comfort and love in the darkness around them.

Ginny easily regained dominance and was on top of Hermione, the brunette looking small, vulnerable, and deliciously delectable beneath her. Ginny brushed away some of her cinnamon-sprinkled brown hair before kissing her mouth gently, trying to memorize the softness of her lips.

"Tired?" Ginny asked her gently, making a game out of it in order to ignore the knot of complications twisting in her stomach.

Hermione shook her head, running the back of her hand across Ginny's cheek. "No. Are you?"

Ginny smiled. "No, but we will be."

They kissed again, slipping back into the heated passion, the one that threatened to engulf both of their hearts and bodies in flame if they weren't careful, and ran her hands down Hermione's body, feeling every curve of skin and bone, cupping her breasts softly to make the older woman gasp into her mouth, moan as she massaged her nipples skillfully between her fingers. She let her hand slip down her abdomen, raking fingernails down her sensitive sides, letting the tension build up between Hermione's legs as she pressed into the skin right next to her hip, slid her fingers over the great heat between her legs and across her inner thighs, before finally submitting to Hermione's whines and whimpers.

Her hand worked miracles; she felt the already wet skin practically drip sweet dew onto her fingers as she rubbed and moved them inside, faster or slower depending on the space between each of the brunette's breaths, watching her face as she touched her just in the right spot, watching her lips form the words "faster" or "harder" without being able to find the voice to say them. But Ginny knew and complied, barely being able to comprehend how she had managed to get here in the first place, making love to the most beautiful girl in the world.

Hermione came in a frenzy of bucking hips and guttural moans, the latter beginning in Ginny's mouth when the woman had brought her head down for a climax-induced passion-overwhelmed kiss, but she had been unable to contain herself, and it let loose throughout the room, throughout the apartment, ending in a few last shuddering breaths and twitching limbs. The brunette kissed her again breathlessly, softly, as if all the energy had been drained from her body – as, indeed, it had, Ginny couldn't help but add with an internal smugness.

They stayed in the warm glow of post-orgasmic silence, Hermione settled with her head on Ginny's chest and her arm across the redhead's belly. Ginny laid contentedly petting her hair and rubbing her back, knowing that's what Hermione liked best. They used to lie just exactly like this when they had dated at school. They had been each other's first lovers, learning the dance together. But even the first time had been indescribably good.

Her brain wanted to dwell on it further, but her body suddenly felt a petite hand fondling her wetness enticingly. Hermione popped her head up from her chest and grinned widely, and Ginny mirrored it before turning off her brain to anything else but the wonderful feeling between her legs.

…

Ginny's internal clock went off just before dawn, the world outside Hermione's apartment awash with grey light. She glanced across the bed to find Hermione still sleeping peacefully, lips parted and hair in her face. Ginny smiled and brushed it gently away before reluctantly slipping out from the warmth of the bed.

She dressed quickly, the cold touching her in more ways than one. She didn't want to leave, of course, but she knew it was for the best. She didn't want anyone – good or bad – suspecting what was going on between them. Either way, it would have consequences, and both sides would result in Ginny having to give this – Hermione – up. Despite what she kept trying to tell herself, she wasn't sure she could deal with that. Of course, she'd never admit it.

"'Mione," she mumbled, prodding the woman's shoulder. The brunette sighed lightly, but didn't wake. "'Mione," she repeated, a little louder.

"What?" Hermione asked breathily, opening her eyes part of the way.

"I have to go," Ginny told her, putting on a small smile. Hermione was adorable when she was sleeping.

"Oh, okay," the half-asleep woman replied, yawning. Ginny could tell she wasn't even aware of what was going on; at least, she wouldn't remember later. "I love you, g'night." Light snoring followed these words; Hermione was fast asleep.

Time stopped. Ginny didn't know how long she stood frozen there, staring at Hermione's form with a sinking feeling in her stomach and a light feeling in her heart. "I love you" echoed in her mind like an ominous mantra repeated by saintly lips. Hermione had spoken the unspeakable, whether the brunette had meant to or not. And those three words could cost them their lives.

It was in a panic that Ginny Apparated back to her own apartment's balcony, a cigarette in her mouth as soon as she felt put together. It was lit within seconds, the smoke pouring into her to calm her racing heart. "I love you," Hermione had said, "I love you." She meant Ginny; she loved Ginny. Hermione Granger had admitted it. It was real. This, this was real.

But it couldn't be, it _couldn't be_. A million different horrible scenarios flew into her brain at once, making her hands shake so bad she could barely hold her cigarette, all ending in serious injury, death, capture, anything. It was all wrong, she was screaming in her head. This was all wrong. This wasn't supposed to happen.

She stamped out her cigarette and tossed it over the side, but the sound of wings made her look back as she went to open her balcony door. An owl landed on the ledge, rolled up parchment tied to its foot. Ginny swallowed, finding no spit, and took it slowly.

_Meet me at the coffee shop in twenty minutes._

_Harry._

It wasn't a fake; there was Harry's official seal at the bottom, a phoenix with flaming wings. She didn't know what it meant, but her suspicions made her feel nauseous and uneasy. Harry knew. Somehow, Harry knew.

"Gods," Ginny moaned, tripping into her house with tears already forming in her eyes. "I'm such an idiot." The redhead sighed, rubbing her eyes, and tried to calm down. She let her mask, the one she used when she was on the field or at headquarters, to fall back over her, eyes turning dark and expressionless. They had to stay that way, especially around Harry. Though she loved the man like a brother, they were at war, and he was her leader. Weakness could not be tolerated.

The walk to the coffee shop was uneventful. She chain smoked, lighting one cigarette before the previous had barely gotten down to the filter. It was calming her nerves, but not reining in her emotions underneath her thick layer of skin. That would only take a good mental breakdown, much later, in the privacy of her own apartment. Alone.

_Don't think on it_, she thought fiercely, gritting her teeth. _Don't do that to yourself yet._

She pushed open the door to see a bubbly blonde behind the counter, chatting away with a tragic poet with dark hair, and Harry sitting in the corner, two coffees on the table. She inclined her head in his direction when he caught her eye and bee-lined through the maze of tables and chairs to him. She didn't bother taking off her jacket. She knew this wouldn't take long.

"Things going well?" she asked him pleasantly, sipping at the cup facing her. Espresso. Harry knew her drink.

"Mostly," the green-eyed man replied vaguely. He didn't take his eyes off of her.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Ginny snapped, frowning as she leaned back. "Why'd you call me here?"

Harry cupped his hands around his own drink, looking as if he was trying to warm his hands, but Ginny knew better. He was simply trying to find the right words to tell her what she already knew. "Hermione," he said finally. "What's going on between you?"

"Nothing," slipped from Ginny's tongue before she could stop it.

Harry snorted. "What's that on your finger, then?" he asked, gesturing to the ring.

Ginny found herself blushing, and hated herself for it. Why did that boy have to be so god damned observant? "It's none of your business," she said softly.

"No, Ginny, it's very much my business." Harry's tone changed from that of friend to that of a leader. She noted the change and steeled herself. "You are putting not just yourselves on the executioner's block, but everyone in this entire operation."

"How do you know what's going on, anyway?" Ginny shot at him while he paused. She thought of him sending spies to Hermione's apartment, face turning hot with rage at imagining people peeping in on them during those really intimate moments.

Harry rolled his eyes. "Come on, Ginny," he replied, exasperated. "I had your brother tail you a few times. He's seen you go to Hermione's apartment twelve times in the past month." The redhead didn't speak. She couldn't deny it. Harry used her silence to continue. "You don't understand, do you? If they detect a pattern, they'll be able to figure out what's going on. They're going to know who's in that apartment. If we lose Hermione to them, it's over. Do you want that on your shoulders?"

"Of course not," Ginny said softly, feeling herself completely empty inside.

Harry nodded, seeing that she was breaking. She didn't care. It's not like they hadn't both expected it; Ginny was only surprised at how far she could feel the cracks going. "You need to end it," he told her, after a few moments of silence. "You need to end it as soon as possible. For both your sakes," he added softly, eyes lightening. "I know how much you care for her, but you have to care enough to be able to let her go. I don't want to see either of you get hurt."

Ginny nodded, finding herself unable to hook onto any one thought pattern. The feeling of everything falling apart was overwhelming. She said nothing as she stood from her chair and left, coffee forgotten on the table.


	6. love and hate

Yep, after forever and a day, I finally sat down and finished up this chapter. That's all I really gotta say. Read, review, and enjoy.

Leather & Cigarettes  
Chapter Six: love and hate

How could she have been so stupid? Ginny's feet tread across the concrete sidewalk of their own accord, the cracks and crannies memorized. She'd traveled these streets far too often, taking the same path – how could they not see a pattern? She cursed herself aloud for being so stupid as to allow this to happen, to get caught up with a woman who was supposed to have been untouchable by her or anyone else. The potential consequences were far too dire; how could she simply let herself carry on in such risky behavior?

How could she have let herself put Hermione in such danger?

Ginny's eyes blurred, and tears slipped from her eyelashes as she blinked. She fumbled for her pack of cigarettes, burning one quickly, sucking in the lethal smoke with a shuddering breath. It was her fault, of course, for going back to Hermione's apartment, for staying there, for sleeping with her initially, for suggesting their carry on… How could Hermione not agree, after being alone for so long?

Ginny bumped into a stranger and mumbled an apology. She saw Hermione's apartment just ahead – she turned quickly to avoid it; she didn't want to have to do it yet. After all, Hermione might still be sleeping. She had only left three hours ago. After leaving the coffee shop, she had returned home briefly to change clothes, before hitting the streets to wander. Every step always led her back to Hermione's apartment.

And what about earlier? Hermione had told her she loved her. There was no mistaking the use of those words, nor their connotation. Ginny could tell the difference; when they had gone to school, Hermione had said the same words, but they had been full of uncertainty, a kind of reluctance. Hermione hadn't gotten used to her emotions yet. But this Hermione, years later, held no insecurity. She had said them with the confidence and the sincerity only the subconscious could muster. It seemed like Hermione had wanted to say them for months now, but circumstance had made her hold her tongue.

_As well she should have_, Ginny couldn't help but think grimly, through her heart ache. _This is so fucked up._

This wasn't a game; if anything bad happened, they wouldn't just be able to start over. Death was death – there was no turning back. And if Ginny would eventually indirectly be the cause of Hermione's death, she knew she would never forgive herself.

There was no choice – she had to let the brunette go. If she didn't, it could mean the destruction of everything they were fighting for. War meant sacrifices. Ginny had already let go of Charlie, her favorite brother. Now she would have to let go of Hermione, the woman she – cared for.

"Gods, do I hate war," she hissed darkly, and turned her course back around to go to Hermione's apartment.

…

The knock at her door took Hermione by surprise. She looked at it suspiciously for a few moments, wondering who it could be; Ginny usually Apparated, as did anyone else from the Order. She waited, hearing nothing but her heart pounding hard and loud in her chest. Perhaps it was just a curious neighbor?

She stood carefully from her seat on the couch and walked over to the door, moving softly across the carpet. The peep-hole showed a head of auburn hair, and her heart leapt pleasantly.

But why was Ginny at her front door, instead of already in her living room?

She undid her many locks and mumbled the incantations to remove a few of the protection spells on her front door so Ginny could come in. They fell easily at the sound of her voice, though it would be more difficult for someone else to remove them – another invention of hers, voice-activated protection spells. She opened the door with a smile on her face.

"You know, you could have just Apparated," she said jokingly, but quickly fell silent. Something wasn't right – Ginny's eyes were bloodshot and her face blotchy, as if she had been crying.

"Going to let me in?" Ginny croaked, and the brunette moved aside, her mood sinking slowly. She shut the door and moved to give the redhead a hug, but Ginny held up her hands, shaking her head slowly. "We – we need to talk. Let's sit down."

"All right," Hermione replied, her voice and hands shaking. She was hurt by the rejection, but had a feeling she'd be feeling even worse in a few moments. She attempted to steel herself to the sting, but felt all her emotional shields gone. Ginny had left her defenseless.

They sat in the same places they had sat in the first night Ginny had been there; Hermione on the chair, Ginny on the couch across from her. Hermione took out her wand to organize the parchment and books on the coffee table, though she didn't know why it mattered – Ginny had seen the mess before. She just needed something to do, something to delay what was coming…

"What is it?" Hermione whispered, finding that she couldn't speak any louder than that. _Where's the Gryffindor courage now?_

Ginny sighed, her shoulders shaking slightly. Hermione noticed that the redhead refused to look her in the eye, instead choosing to focus on a spot just off to the side, somewhere on the carpeting. "Hermione… We can't…" She sighed again, running her hands through her hair. "We can't do this anymore."

Blood roared in her ears from her still-pounding heart, but everything else in her body, in the apartment, was still. Hermione felt her lungs burn, and quickly drew in a sharp breath. "What?" she said, and her voice showed real confusion. Somehow, she was unable to comprehend what it all meant.

"Are you really going to make me say it again?" Ginny pleaded, looking at her for the first time. Her blue eyes were dark and brooding, like an ocean during a storm. "We can't, Hermione, we _can't_ do this anymore. You have to understand…"

Hermione said nothing. She could feel her eyes filling with the start of tears, but refused to let them fall. Where were all her defenses? How could she have not seen this coming? And yet – how could she have? Ginny had given her no signs that this was going to happen.

"But I _don't_ understand," Hermione replied, frowning. "You've had every opportunity in the past four months to end it, and you choose _now_? What's even making you do this?" Ginny stayed silent. Hermione felt understanding dawning on her, and she laughed with indignation. "This is about Harry, isn't it? He bullied you into ending it with me, because he told you it would be dangerous, that I would get hurt because you were seen here all the time… Is that it?" Hermione stood, hysteria taking her. "You're ending this because of _Harry_?"

"This isn't just because of Harry!" Ginny shouted.

"Then what is it?" Hermione pressed angrily, temper rising. "We've been careful! We've made sure nothing bad happens! Merlin, we've even distanced ourselves emotionally! _So what's making you end it now?_"

"That's the problem, Hermione," Ginny said quietly. Hermione stared at her, an odd feeling in her stomach. "We haven't. You told me… you told me you loved me this morning, when I was leaving."

At first, everything seemed suspended in time. They were frozen; Hermione standing with her arms crossed, Ginny still on the couch, looking up at her. It was so _stupid_, Hermione just wanted to scream.

"That's absolutely preposterous," she said flatly. "Of course I wouldn't have said anything like that, because then this would have happened."

Ginny growled in frustration, rolling her eyes. "But you _did_ say it, and this _is_ happening."

Hermione shook her head wildly, upset and angry. "No! No it's not! This isn't happening, Ginny, and you're not doing this to me… I wouldn't have said it… I just _wouldn't have_…"

"Well, did you mean it?" Ginny asked her abruptly. Hermione stopped and stared at her, not speaking. "_Did you_?"

"That's not the point," the brunette whispered, eyes widening. She was afraid of this, because she couldn't control it. Everything was falling apart, and she was watching it like static on a television screen.

"No, Hermione, that is the point," Ginny replied sharply. "You said it, and I know you meant it. It doesn't matter what we feel for each other, we can't say it. Do you even realize how dangerous that is?"

"Of course I do, which is why I wouldn't have -!" Hermione gave a half-strangled scream and stormed away from the living room, tears scalding her face. This was not how it was supposed to turn out; everything was supposed to be fine; they should have been spending a nice time together, instead of doing this… All because she had to open her big mouth, say what she really felt. She didn't remember saying it, but that didn't matter. She'd been thinking it for months – what would have kept her from saying it when she was half-asleep and not thinking?

She slowly sank to the floor and wrapped her arms around her knees, unable to control her sobs. She heard Ginny move from the couch towards her, but she couldn't deal with receiving any comfort from the redhead – it would only drive the fact that she was leaving even further into her heart, like a sharp knife being twisted.

"If you're going to go, you should go," she choked out, not looking up. She saw Ginny's feet pause on the carpet a mere two feet away. "You said so yourself – we can't do this anymore. Just leave, Ginny."

"Hermione," Ginny began, and stopped. Hermione saw her feet take a step backwards, start shuffling in the direction of the door. "Goodbye, then." Her tone was defeated, regretful, hurt. It was the last thing Hermione heard before the door closed.

…

Ginny ran down the stairs blinded by tears, doorways to other floors and the steps that led them there blurred. She wouldn't let them fall here, not until she was in the safety of her own apartment. Even so upset, she still couldn't forget what kind of danger she was in; and the enemy could always be watching.

_That's why this is right_, Ginny justified to herself again. _This is what has to happen. I can't be falling apart if she's hurt, especially if it's my fault._ She gritted her teeth to ignore the searing, uncomfortable pain in her heart.

She shoved the door to the street open and groped for her cigarettes, lighting up in record time. The nicotine did little to calm her bleeding emotions, but it was a nice gesture on her part to try. Gods, hurting Hermione had to be the hardest thing she'd ever done – worse than facing Tom Riddle her first year, worse than her first kill and facing death on a regular basis. Somehow, knowing that Hermione was in pain because of her only made the big-scale worse, not better. After all, how was _this_ protecting her? How was this helping? Wouldn't Hermione get upset, lose concentration on her charms, and have more of a chance of being attacked?

Suddenly, Ginny felt her jeans pocket heat, leaving a slight circular brand in her skin. She swore softly and darted out off of the sidewalk onto a closed shop's steps, pulling out the hot emergency coin from her pocket. They had been Ron's idea, crafted by Hermione – like the old coins from the D.A., only these alerted others of specific people in danger and their location.

At first, she couldn't get a clear view of the words; they were still blurred and burning red, still forming. She watched with a sudden rush of blood to the head, her pulse beating hard and loud in her ears, as they changed from nothing into:

**HERMIONE GRANGER  
****1583 BRIAR LN #28C**

There was no time.

She raced back down the way she came, her cigarette dropping half-finished somewhere in her haste. The wind and her determination to arrive in time dried her previous tears and left them hanging like stinging icicles in the back of her eyes, making them feel raw and itchy. Her previous thoughts left her kicking herself mentally; of course; how could this have not happened? Harry must have been expecting it, some inside informant tipping him off to the Death Eater's plans; maybe a spy had been tailing Ron _and_ her; maybe someone overheard their conversation in the coffee shop that morning.

There were far too many different scenarios to choose from. Regardless, Ginny knew that any and all of them would be her fault.

A woman was thankfully going out as she was going in. She didn't take the time to thank her or slow down before she threw herself through the open door, taking the steps two at a time.

_Why does she have to live on the fucking fourth floor?_ Ginny snarled internally, concealing her hold on her wand on the inside of her sleeve. It hummed against her skin with the force of her anger.

Out of breath and with aching, tired legs she reached the last floor, rushing down the hallway – consequences of Muggles be damned – with her wand brandished, when she suddenly felt herself connect with a hard, warm solid.

She yelped and put her wand to its neck; she felt a wand move to her own. For a moment, she and Harry stared at each other, bewildered and vengeful.

"What are you doing here?" she snarled.

"I could ask you the same," he replied indignantly.

She rolled her eyes and pulled her wand away. She glared dangerously when he didn't immediately comply and swatted his out of her face like a fly. "That's not important right now!" she cried, moving towards the correct door. "We have to help Hermione."

Harry sighed and nodded grimly, mimicking her movements. They shared one last glance before simultaneously blasting open the door.

They stepped inside while the magic smoke still hid them slightly from view. As it cleared, Ginny felt her eyes narrow in fury and fear.

Hermione was bound to one of her kitchen chairs, hands behind her back and feet chained to each leg. They would be top quality magical rope, probably spelled to burn and cut into her skin if she moved even the slightest inch. There were tears in her blank eyes, skin already bruised across her delicate cheekbone and peaking out from the ripped sleeves of her clothing. They hadn't bothered to gag her; their magic was powerful enough to keep her at bay, in her state.

_In her state_, Ginny thought furiously to herself. _This is my fault._

"Ah, Mister Potter, Miss Weasley." Lucius Malfoy's sinisterly silky voice slipped over their bodies like freezing water. "We've been expecting you."


	7. snakes and lions

Hey! Sorry for the long wait for this chapter; I hope it was well worth it. Thanks for all the positive reviews! One more chapter after this, and I promise it won't take as long to come out as this one. Enjoy.

Leather & Cigarettes  
Chapter Seven: snakes and lions

Hermione pulled herself off the floor a few minutes after Ginny left, feeling drained and helpless. The tears were falling in a silent stream now instead of a waterfall, sobs crashing like waves over her body, and she felt steady enough to make herself a cup of tea. She wouldn't be able to work today, and she knew it; she glanced over at her Muggle movie collection and decided on a good comedy and a pint of ice cream. She would take it like a real girl, at least for a few hours. There would be no one to check up on her. Tomorrow, she would carry on business as usual.

Still, Ginny leaving her made her heart feel sick. Hermione had grown used to the redhead's presence, popping in and out like a pleasant surprise. It had never just been about the sex. It had also been about the strong bond that was so easily welded between them, and so untouchable by anyone else.

She was reaching for a spoon when she heard shattered glass from her bedroom. Her ice cream carton was dripping melting ice onto the linoleum. Her heart was pounding in her rib cage, moving her bones, making it hard to hear anything but the pulsating organ in her ear drums.

"My wand," she whispered in horror; it was still in her bedroom, sitting on the nightstand. She muffled a moan of pain into her hand as she felt her protection spells being shredded from the walls and windows; they were easy to tear down in her fragile emotional state.

Panic sent her for the kitchen knives; brains swore at her, reminding her knives would be useless against wands. Whoever was there with her was obviously adept enough to pull down her strong protection spells, breaking it without her even initially feeling it. But she still brandished them with care, the long points slightly dull, but she hoped they would do the trick.

With careful, sock-footed steps she tip-toed her way across the kitchen, knives held out in front of her for self-defense. _Maybe I can take them by surprise_, she thought, eyes darting around her. _Maybe they don't even know I'm here._

And then there was a black form in front of her, looming and dangerous, white, bone-like mask gleaming in the dull sunlight, holding two wands.

"Granger," the Death Eater in front of her smirked. His voice was sulky and arrogant; her brain recognized it without a name, too caught up in fear to think clearly or at all. "I thought you'd be here."

Hermione didn't scream – more sighed as the knives were taken out of her hands and her hair was pulled by someone – something – behind her. Her scalp prickled, burned; she cried out. The two Death Eaters laughed.

The Death Eater in front of her lifted his hand; she flinched slightly, but he simply peeled away his mask, revealing hard silver-blue eyes and long silver hair: Lucius Malfoy. Her stomach sank somewhere beneath the floor, a sick feeling swirling within her.

_I must be top-quality, if they sent their best after me,_ she thought weakly.

Lucius moved in close; she tried to recoil, but the anonymous Death Eaters behind her held her still. She closed her eyes against his ominous face, feeling his cold breath against her ear. "Of course, your lover led us straight to you," he said softly, making her skin crawl. "Just this morning. Terrible, isn't it, how she left you all alone?"

He pulled away slowly like a snake ready to strike. She watched as he reached into his robes and leveled his wand with her chest.

_This isn't happening,_ Hermione thought, and bended her knee to kick at the Death Eaters holding her. Lucius Malfoy smirked; her leg stopped.

"Let her go," he said to the others. But in her mind, she heard another command: _stand still_.

_Move. Move. Move._ She begged her mind to have the will to break the Imperius Curse. She felt them drop her arms and step away. She didn't move.

"You know," Lucius drawled at her matter-of-factly, "there's probably good reason why you're not on the battlefield."

Another peal of laughter behind her; she glared at him, trying to break free, but his mental bounds stayed fast.

_Walk to the living room._

_No, Hermione,_ she tried weakly, but his mind pressed firmly against hers.

_**Walk to the living room.**_

Her first few steps were wooden before she finally caved into his will. Their laughter followed her into the living room, Lucius Malfoy staying close by, his deceptively soothing voice still in her head.

_Sit down, in this chair._

One of the others was carrying one of her kitchen chairs; he brought it forward and set it on the bare floor. She sat immediately.

Rope appeared in front of her, conjured out of thin air. _Take it._ She did. _Bind your legs._ She wrapped them around her ankles and the chair's legs, making sure the knots were tight. Her eyes streamed a constant flow of tears that she couldn't even feel, past the harsh binds cutting into her skin. The one who had brought the chair came forward with more rope and roughly pulled her arms behind her back. She cried out as it cut into her delicate wrists, blood beginning to slowly trickle down into her palms.

"You think this is pain, Granger?" Lucius asked her, sneering. He nodded to the other side of the room. Suddenly she felt another presence behind her, taking deliberately slow steps into her vision.

"Draco," she breathed lightly. His steel grey eyes locked with hers coldly. Lucius' son had been helping their side; somehow, his betrayal shook her more than anything else. She had expected to be caught in this situation someday – but she had never expected Draco to be the one to catch her.

The blonde-haired man raised his wand, a sneer forming to match his father's. "Don't speak to me, Mudblood," he growled. "Don't defile my name with your dirty lips."

"You can't do this," she whispered. She had saved his life before; he knew it, too. She could see the flicker of unease in his face. He owed her.

He shook his head slightly, to clear it, to regain his resolve. Hermione saw his lips move silently, and suddenly there was nothing but the most impossible pain coursing through her veins. It was like razor blades coated with acid slicing through her; blunted axes at her skull; and sharpened nails tearing at her soul. Her eyes were blind and she was deaf to her own blood curdling screams.

Then it all stopped – suddenly, like a symphony's finale: a swell of sound, and then nothing. She breathed in heavily and felt the rawness of her throat, a twinge of pain compared to what she had just experienced.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw Lucius move. Without any other warning, she felt the back of his hand connect with her face, the Malfoy family crest upon his finger slicing across her cheekbone. Her head whipped to the side from the force of the blow, the sound echoing sickeningly.

"Filth," he spat. "You deserve all of this, just for being born." Her skull ripped open as Draco hit her with the Cruciatus Curse again, letting off after only a few seconds. "However, you are lucky I didn't kill you that day in the Department of Mysteries. Now, you are so much more important. A point in your favor." He smirked.

She knew better than to show reaction, even fear. Yet her face was raw from crying, the cut on her cheekbone burning as salty tears trailed into it, mingling with her filthy blood…

_Beg for mercy, Mudblood._

"Please," choked from her mouth in a choked sob, trying to keep it in, trying to resist. "Don't--" Whatever the curse had planned for her to say turned into a tired scream of pain, slashes appearing on her arms from Draco's wand.

At the small of her back she could feel the pressure of magic building again – two wands were pointed at her, from father and son. She knew they wouldn't kill her, not yet; she was too important to them right now. But that didn't mean they wouldn't make a show of trying to break her.

She steeled herself for the incoming pain when the front door blasted open, distracting everyone in the room. The other two Death Eaters pulled out their wands, but she could imagine the fear behind their eyes – who knew how many of Dumbledore's Army had come?

The smoke cleared; through her blurry vision she could only make out two forms, and her heart sank. She, and they, would all die.

"Ah, Mister Potter, Miss Weasley." Lucius Malfoy's sinisterly silky voice slipped over her body like freezing water. "We've been expecting you."

_Ginny. Harry._ Hermione's mind went into a blind panic – they were going to die because of her, because she hadn't been strong. And yet she couldn't help but feel some comfort in their presence – especially Ginny's. Hermione noticed the ring she had given her still settled on her finger.

"You _will_ let her go," Ginny told him, a dangerous tremble to her voice.

Lucius bowed slightly, mocking her. "I think death is a release we can all appreciate," he replied with a sardonic smile. "You will have your lady-friend – and your master researcher – when we have finished with her."

"You and I both know, Malfoy, that your chances of leaving here with her are slim," Harry said, his soft, deep voice carrying through the room.

"And yet your chances of leaving here alive are even slimmer," Lucius retorted.

Ginny cocked an eyebrow. "I'd like to see you try and kill me."

"Ginny, no--" Hermione choked out weakly. She saw the redhead's eyes move towards her, guilt shining in them. _It's not your fault_, she wanted to tell her, but nothing came out as the Cruciatus Curse slammed into her again.

There were other spells going on around her; through her fogged mind she saw Harry attack Draco, and the Cruciatus lifted from her body; the two Death Eaters off to the side began shooting spells from the tips of their wands only to be retaliated by Ginny. The chaos made her head hurt, made her body feel even weaker. What would it really be like, she thought, to simply fall asleep and never come back?

_It would be better than telling Lucius everything I know,_ she decided grimly. It was her duty to protect, not just other people, but the information she had gathered. It wasn't really her they were after, but the knowledge she possessed. And yet, as the vessel of that knowledge, it would be better for her to die than to be captured.

Her eyes made out a tall, foreboding form in front of her, felt her binds being cut away. Rough hands picked her up by the arms out of the chair, making her wince and cry out weakly. No one noticed as Lucius Malfoy carried her out of the melee, slipping into the kitchen. He tossed her upon the linoleum floor, smacking her again once she had landed.

"Tell me what Potter and Dumbledore are planning," he commanded fiercely. She heard the same echo in her head.

She clamped her mouth shut, squeezing her eyes tightly in order to concentrate. Now that it was especially important, she couldn't let herself be controlled.

"They're planning…" She gasped as the pain caused by her refusal to cooperate lifted. _Stop, Hermione._ "They're planning to…" She bit down on her lip so hard she could feel her teeth slip into her skin, taste the blood on her tongue.

Lucius' Cruciatus Curse hit her like a tsunami compared to the wave of Draco's; she could feel her brain begin to break down, cells dying in her body. If this went on for any longer, her mind would be lost, and that was worse than death…

And then it was over. Her vision was filtered in grey, but she could still vaguely see Lucius' freeze framed expression of surprise and anger and a head of auburn just behind his shoulder. Out of shock, exhaustion, and pain, Hermione felt herself slip away into the darkness of oblivion.


	8. waiting and sleeping

Wow, did this story take me forever. Finally, the long-anticipated ending. I worked long and hard on this, so I hope you enjoy it.

Leather & Cigarettes  
Chapter Eight: waiting and sleeping

Ginny watched Hermione crumble on the floor like a rag doll and felt her heart scream out in pain. Panic gripped her now more than when she had first seen Hermione tied up and screaming.

She tripped over Lucius Malfoy's frozen form and landed next to her lover, eyes widening at the extent of her injuries. If only she had never come – if only she had stayed – the moralities were too confusing to think about right now, but she felt guilty all the same.

"I'm really sorry, baby girl," she whispered in a trembling voice, carefully pulling Hermione into her arms. Her hand shook as she searched for a pulse, finding it faint and erratic. "I should've been here for you."

Harry was next to her now, standing. He examined the scene in front of him but said nothing of the intimacy; instead, he cut right to the chase. "Apparate to the hospital wing," he ordered. "Once she's in proper care, alert Ron of the security breach here and let him know we have four Death Eaters in custody, including Lucius and Draco Malfoy, Blaise Zabini, and the younger Gregory Goyle. I'll wait here for him and others to come; I can't Apparate them all myself."

Ginny nodded slightly, barely hearing him. Hospital wing – Ron – it all came down to the weak and wounded girl tucked in her arms.

"Ginny." She felt Harry's hand on her shoulder; she looked up to meet shining eyes of emerald. "She's going to be all right."

"I know," she whispered, and Apparated away.

The hospital wing was silent when she popped into existence, Hermione drooping in her arms. And yet out of nowhere Mediwizards appeared around them, tugging Hermione out of her arms. Ginny panicked, protesting, feeling the press of bodies around her, the disappearance of Hermione, being set down on a tall bed and being wheeled away. There was her mother, gently pulling her towards the door, telling her to calm down; everything would be okay.

"But I want to be there!" she shouted, struggling. "I have to --!"

"There's nothing you can do for her right now," Molly Weasley reminded her. "I'll come get you when they're finished."

Suddenly, there was a door shut in her face. She was in the hallway.

"Dammit!" she screamed, punching the wall next to the door. Her arm ached in protest; she'd physically knocked down Goyle before petrifying him, and adulthood had not leaned him out by any means. Thankfully, she hadn't maintained any other damage; Hermione really knew her protection spells…

_Hermione…_ Ginny felt more tears choke her, but she pushed them down. At headquarters, she couldn't betray any weakness. She had to be strong. In reality, the battle wasn't quite over – she would let herself fall apart only after she found out that Hermione was going to be all right.

Because there couldn't be any other alternative. Hermione _had_ to be all right.

…

"Merlin, Ginny, you look like a freak Floo accident survivor," Ronald Weasley informed his sister when she walked through the door to his rooms. "What the bloody hell happened?"

Ginny let herself collapse onto her favorite armchair, body weary. "Hermione was attacked," she replied flatly. Before Ron could question her, she continued. "She's in the infirmary right now. Harry's at her apartment, holding Zabini, Goyle Junior, and Draco and Lucius Malfoy." _I'm gonna kill that bastard Draco._ "He wants you and a few others to go there to help him bring them back here."

Ron nodded, fazed by the news about Hermione. She let him be silent, finding herself fond of it, really; growing older and being put in these hard times had mellowed her older brother out. She was glad of it. She was sure she would've throttled him by now, family ties be damned.

"This is your fault, isn't it?" he asked suddenly, in a quiet voice.

She looked up at him wearily, but didn't reply. He took her silence as an invitation to continue. "You knew, from the beginning, that it wouldn't be a good idea to get involved with her, but you did it anyway. And now look what's happened: Hermione's in the hospital wing with Merlin knows what kind of injuries, and if not for you, she would be fine, safe at home and doing her job."

"If not for me, she would probably be in Voldemort's custody by now," she replied scathingly, blood boiling.

"Looks like the only time your being in her life has done her any good!" Ron retorted, face turning red.

"Will you fucking lay off me?" Ginny shouted. Ron glared at her. "Stop pretending you're so bloody perfect, for a _second_. This is the first time anything bad has happened to Hermione, and how many times have you and Lavender put each other in danger? How many times have you tried to save her, at the cost of your life – or both of your lives, for that matter?"

"But I love Lavender!" Ron cut in. "And you--"

"_Love Hermione_," she growled. Ron's eyes widened in surprise. "So, brother, how am I any different than you?"

Ginny stood from the chair and walked to the door, feeling Ron watch her. As she left, she said over her shoulder, "Don't forget: Harry's waiting."

…

The hallway outside the infirmary wasn't very interesting. There were five hundred fifty-two tiles from doorway to doorway. They were all steel grey, staying marginally clean due to the wonders of magic. However, there were twenty five scratches in the tiles closest to her. Only ten of them were caused by Ginny's bitten-down, slightly sharpened fingernails. The others were a mystery.

She was not good with waiting. She'd already Apparated home – twice – to shower and change. The shower she had taken had been an hour long, in an attempt to wash away the guilt and the pain and the worry with which she had coated herself. She'd washed the clothes she had been wearing three times, then decided to just burn them. She didn't like them much, anyway.

She'd already checked in with her mother to see how Hermione was doing. Twice. And twice, her mother had pursed her lips and shut the door on her again. She didn't even try to feign injuries in order to get inside; they all knew her better than that.

_Though I could use some ice for my hand_, she thought. The knuckles were slightly purple with bruising.

Ginny toyed with her ring for a while; the one Hermione had given her. She liked the way it reflected the lights, making them bounce and dance on the drab colors. It was like some kind of hope she was hanging onto; the walls were her head. She couldn't help that they kept on closing in when she thought too hard about what she had done.

_It's my fault she's in there_, she thought again, feeling it bite into her like sharp metal teeth. She'd thought about leaving a thousand times, thinking, maybe, that it would be better this way. To simple leave and never come back.

After all, would Hermione even still want her after what had happened? Hermione was a smart girl; she would know that it was all Ginny's fault for her wounds, that they had found her and tortured her for all she was worth. Ginny wasn't too sure she was even worth the life Hermione had been forced to put on the line, all because of her.

And yet she couldn't force herself to move from her spot on the floor, directly across from the entrance to the infirmary, waiting.

…

The door opened, suddenly, like a gust of wind blew it open on accident. Ginny stood within the same moment. Nervousness and excitement and guilt made her stomach churn with mixed signals.

The Mediwitch looked tired, but relieved. There was sweat on her brow, making her short-cropped blonde hair stick in wet strands to her forehead.

"I'm sorry about the wait," the woman apologized. "It was necessary for Hermione's mental health that we check everything."

"Is she okay?" Ginny asked hurriedly, anxious to get inside.

The Mediwitch nodded vigorously. "Oh, yes, she bandaged up quite well," she explained optimistically. "Though they were excessive in nature, her physical wounds were a breeze to heal." She hesitated. Ginny zeroed in on her reluctance and came closer.

"But…?"

"Her mind was hit quite consistently with the Cruciatus Curse," the witch said. "It was necessary that we discover the extent of the damage caused to her memory."

Something dropped inside her, like a fast-falling raindrop in slow motion. "Is she okay?" Ginny repeated herself hollowly.

"We're all quite grateful for Hermione's unceasing intelligence," the woman replied with the hint of a smile. "The Malfoys, thankfully, calculated the force of the curse well; she will only suffer from temporary short-term memory loss. Her long-term memory is fine."

Ginny felt some of the tension in her relax slowly. There was still the looming question of Hermione's feelings for her.

"She's been asking for you," the blonde told her gently, meeting Ginny's gaze. "You're welcome to stay with her; we put her in your care."

"Thank you," Ginny said thickly, tears forming in her eyes. She blinked them away quickly and allowed the Mediwitch to lead her inside.

Hermione was sleeping peacefully on her back, a few brown locks falling across her face. They had put her in generic clothing, a white t-shirt and light blue pajama pants; Ginny could see the waistband of them from where Hermione had pushed away her blankets. Her bare arms, that had been covered in blood last Ginny saw her, were whole again. Only the smallest hint of pinkish-silver scar tissue remained. The cut on her cheek was completely gone. She noticed a faint glow of green out of the corner of her eye, and realized it was coming from Hermione's finger. They were monitoring her pulse; it was slow and sleepy.

It was as if nothing had ever happened.

Ginny sat heavily in the chair next to the bed, feeling the weight of the day's events fall on her shoulders.

Ron was right – Hermione would have been fine if not for her. It was still late afternoon; Hermione would have been curled up on the sofa, reading with a cup of steaming tea on the coffee table and light music in the background.

And yet Ginny couldn't quite see that as being it. She couldn't help but think that there was something missing. She believed so fervently that she made it complete.

And if Hermione didn't want her…?

She would think about that later.

…

The sound of a chair being pushed across the floor awoke Ginny from her light doze half an hour later. A tired Harry sat next to her, eyes darkened with the depth of everything.

"How is she?" he asked, gesturing at the woman on the bed.

"Fine," Ginny croaked; sleep had dried her throat. She cleared it accordingly and tired again. "How was capture?"

"A disaster," Harry replied flatly. "Lucius escaped."

Ginny's eyes widened in alarm. "What?"

Harry recalled the action tonelessly, his anger deflated by resignation and defeat. "He shook himself out of the Pertificus Totalus you put on him earlier, threw back the two wizards holding him, grabbed his wand, cursed the shit out of everything, and Apparated out."

"Fucking hell," Ginny swore viciously, closing her hands into fists. "Just – fucking hell."

They were silent for a few moments. The only sound came from the pulse on Hermione's fingertip. Ginny could feel something building up in Harry, accusations and anger directed at her, forcing the responsibility down her throat. It felt like a sickness within her, one she had to get out before he could expose her to it.

"I should have ended it sooner," she said softly. Harry didn't move, listening to her confessions. "I knew it was wrong, that it was dangerous, but I couldn't stop, I…" She faltered, staring blurry-eyed at the sleeping brunette, whom had confessed her love in a dream-induced murmur. "I love her, Harry."

"I know you do," he replied, and sighed ruefully. "I thought you loved her enough to be able to let her go."

There was no order, but Ginny could catch the drift: he wanted her to agree to never see Hermione again.

"It's a little too late for that," she told him. They looked at each other, their unyielding stubbornness clashing dangerously.

"What if it happens again?" he asked, testing.

"It obviously will, with Lucius free," she replied calmly.

"Dammit, Ginny, this is Hermione's _life_ you're fucking with!" Harry exclaimed angrily. "She could have died today because of you!"

"And because of me, she survived," she countered, voice rising.

"And if you're not there next time?" He stood, and the chair skidded slightly from his force. "What will you do if you don't make it in time and we lose her?"

"You're going to lose her anyway," Ginny retorted, mimicking his standing stance. "Merlin, Harry, you can't just shut a human being in a broom closet and forget about her, never letting her out until she can't breathe! You of all people she understand this." A jab at his childhood; Ginny knew it was a low blow, but she was past caring about the hits she dealt, just as long as they connected. Harry's mouth opened, but she cut him off with a razor sharp glare. "And _don't_ tell me that it's different from what you had to deal with. It's exactly the same, except she doesn't even have angry relatives breathing down her neck to keep her company. You and Ron were supposed to be her best friends," she added bitterly, "and you left her alone to rot in a cage _you_ built for her."

"You want to know what I want?" a voice said suddenly from the bed. Harry and Ginny both turned their focus to the open-eyed brunette, who looked mildly irritated beneath her residual fatigue. "For you two to stop fighting about what's already happened and start talking about what's going to happen next." She pushed herself into a sitting position, propped up against her pillows, and folded her hands in her lap, looking expectant.

"I'm glad you're okay," Ginny mumbled meekly, not meeting her gaze. Now she was guilty of not only Hermione's attack, but also disturbing her much-needed rest.

Harry also took on a more demure demeanor, if only for a second. He sat slowly in his chair, coughing slightly. "I'm having a team clear out your apartment as we speak," he told Hermione in a gently authoritative tone. "I'll have a new home for you in a few days."

"And increased security?" she half-asked, half-demanded.

Ginny had sat back down and now felt like a child listening to her parents doing a divorce settlement. How could they both be so calm, when Hermione had just been attacked by the deadliest Death Eater alive and Harry had just been yelled at for being a horrible friend?

When Harry finished off listing the new measures being taken to ensure her safety, Hermione took on a pensive look, then slowly shook her head.

"No, that's not going to be good enough," she told him frankly.

If the situation were less grave, Ginny would have laughed at Harry's expression of utter incomprehension. As it was, Ginny didn't really understand what Hermione was getting at, either.

"What more can I do?" Harry asked helplessly, the incredulous look still present. "Merlin, unless you want a bloody bodygua--" He stopped abruptly and looked from Hermione's mischievous eyes to Ginny's confused ones. "But Hermione…"

"I can't live alone, now can I?" she asked softly, half-smiling. Her eyes caught on Ginny's, who felt her heart racing suddenly.

Harry rolled his eyes and rubbed the back of his neck, thinking. Finally, it looked as if he had come to a decision, and nodded slowly.

"Fine," he said, then turned to address Ginny. "Ginny, I have a new mission for you."

Ginny's lips twitched, but she kept her smiles down. It was obvious that Harry was attempting to maintain his sense of authority. "I'm assigning you to be a bodyguard for Hermione Granger."

Ginny's heart roared jovially in her ears. She felt drunk off of shots of happiness handed to her in this hospital wing, all at once. But she feigned a look of confusion and asked innocently, "Who?"

Harry cracked a grin, the first she'd seen from him in a while. "You remember, that bushy-haired know-it-all a year ahead of you at school."

Their laughter was muffled by sudden pillows being thrown at their faces. Ginny grinned at the woman on the bed and sauntered closer to her, setting the pillow behind her back before planting a dainty kiss on her cheek.

"I believe you misplaced this, Miss Granger," she said politely. "As your bodyguard, it's my job to ensure your comfort and safety."

"Thank you, Weatherby," Hermione replied, making the three of them erupt into schoolish laughter again.

"Just don't tell Ron too much about this new arrangement," Ginny warned Harry. "Otherwise, you'll have an angry Lavender wondering why Ron can't be _her_ bodyguard."

"I'm sure it'll happen either way," Hermione interjected. "You could just retaliate by saying that she's not smart enough to have a bodyguard."

…

After a few minutes of arguing, Harry was able to convince the Mediwitch to let Hermione stay in her room at the main headquarters. She still demanded, however, that Hermione's pulse be monitored, "just in case."

When they reached the room, Hermione climbed almost immediately into the bed, pushing the main comforter off with a kick of her legs. Ginny suddenly felt a surge of misplacement, of self-conscious, watching Hermione's confidence and lack of unease. After all, she still had no idea of Hermione even still wanted her.

"Take off your jeans and get into bed already," Hermione whined playfully, yawning widely. "I'm lonely."

Ginny fumbled with the button on her jeans and nearly tripped getting them off, pulling her socks off along with them. She left them in a crumpled pile on the floor along with her long-sleeved shirt, now wearing only a black tank top and her dark red cotton panties.

It took her a moment, in which she tried to get over her own modesty, to notice that Hermione was watching her with a content, coy look on her face. Ginny felt a blush and a nervous smile blossom on her face. "What?" she asked self-consciously.

Hermione simply continued to smile, and stretched her body out under the covers like a happy cat. "Nothing," she replied casually, "you're just really beautiful, that's all."

"Oh." Ginny could find no comeback. She stood at the foot of the bed awkwardly for a few more moments, before finally scrambling under the covers, finding that covering her body made herself feel less obvious and exposed. Despite the little signs that Hermione was still interested, Ginny still let the brunette come to her – and she did, curling up in the crook of her neck as soon as the redhead had gotten comfortable.

"It's really good to be here again," Hermione murmured into Ginny's collarbone, nuzzling her lightly.

"At headquarters?" Ginny asked obviously, frowning slightly. "I thought you didn't like it."

Hermione laughed, her warm breath tickling Ginny's skin. "No, here with _you_," she explained. "I really missed you…" She trailed off into a quiet sadness.

Ginny bit her lip, feeling guilty all over again. Why did she have to screw up so badly? "I'm sorry, Hermione," she whispered into Hermione's hair, and held the brunette closer. "The last thing I wanted to do was hurt you."

"I know." Hermione sighed. "I understand why you did. You were just trying to protect me; or Harry was just trying to protect the both of us. Either way, I don't blame you for what happened."

Ginny shook her head a little, unable to give up the blame on herself. It _was_ her fault it had happened, not Harry's, not Hermione's… Hermione may have continually wanted her to be there with her, but that didn't mean that Ginny shouldn't have known better than to continually be there. And, after getting too involved, she should have known better not to have left.

She just had wanted the brunette so badly, she could barely understand it. Waiting for years to get to this point had been torture. Having her, but not having her; then almost losing her – it had been such an ordeal. And now, being able to really be with her… It seemed like such a twist of confusing sacrifices and wishes finally coming true. Either way, it filled Ginny with such an emotional overload that now, just lying in bed with the girl she loved, made the tears finally fall freely.

"Ginny?" Hermione asked, concerned. Ginny just held her tighter, unable to speak what she was feeling at the moment. Hermione responded to the grip and switched their positions so that Ginny's head was resting on her chest and began to gently stroke her hair. "What's wrong, darling? Please don't cry…"

"I could have lost you today," Ginny told her brokenly, shaking. It had hit her so many times, that thought, but never as strong as it did now. "It's my fault, too, that you almost died… And yet you still want me. I don't understand."

"I don't understand why I wouldn't want you anymore," Hermione said after a few more heartbeats. "That's just silly, Ginny. After all these years, do you think I would give up on the one person I've been waiting for?"

Ginny looked up, searching Hermione's eyes. They were serious and deep, like a forest at night. Her tears had calmed to a mere trickle every once in a while. "How do you know that I love you?" she asked curiously.

Hermione smiled and kissed her forehead gently. "Because your eyes tell me so," she replied simply. But Ginny could feel the doubt that grew in the brunette momentarily. Hermione's face became less confident. "You… do love me, don't you?"

Did she? Ginny grinned, not being able to help herself. She nodded slowly. "I love you very much, Hermione. You can be sure of it."

The expression of absolute happiness on Hermione's face was worth every pain in the world. "I love you, too, Ginny," she whispered gently, pulling the redhead's face closer to kiss her. Their arms instinctively wrapped around each other tighter, enjoying the prolonged sweetness of their mouths and bodies pressed together. When they separated, seconds or years later, Hermione snuggled dreamy-eyed in Ginny's arms and Ginny could feel the sleepiness in the slowness of her green pulse. "I can't wait to wake up to you every morning," Hermione mumbled, still smiling as she gently fell asleep only minutes later.

Ginny smiled and kissed the brunette's forehead lovingly, letting Hermione's gentle breathing settle her into a sleep filled with nothing but good dreams.


End file.
